


An Ever-Fixed Mark

by ArchangelEquinox



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Arranged Marriage, Cullen Rutherford has PTSD - Post-Tramatic Stress Disorder, Eventual Smut, F/M, Heavy Angst, POV Cullen Rutherford, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, The Winter Palace (Dragon Age), Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-07-24 00:57:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 86,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7487067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchangelEquinox/pseuds/ArchangelEquinox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Cullen sighed. He couldn't quite believe this was where his life had led him -- not just ex-Templar, or Commander of the Inquisition, but to an arranged marriage with the second most powerful woman in Orlais.  It carried a noble duty, to be sure: the relationship between Orlais and the Inquisition had been chilly at best, and a marriage was the most diplomatic solution Josephine had come up with.   </p><p>Enter Cullen." </p><p>an AU in which Cullen turned down the Inquisitor on the battlements and later found himself in an arranged marriage to Florianne de Chalons</p><p>The tags do not lie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

            "I'm sorry," Cullen said, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.  "Tell me again why I must wear a mask to meet the woman I'm to marry?" 

            Leliana gave him a look that clearly said she found the question absurd.  "It is the Orlesian custom, as I'm sure you are aware, Commander." 

            "And Grand Duchess Florianne will expect her country's customs to be upheld," Josephine added without looking up from her writing board.  "It was difficult enough for her to agree to the match with a Fereldan.  She will want to be assured that you can respect Orlais as much as the Inquisition." 

            "Otherwise, the alliance between the two will remain in question," Leliana finished.  Cullen sighed. He couldn't quite believe this was where his life had led him -- not just ex-Templar, or Commander of the Inquisition, but to an arranged marriage with the second most powerful woman in Orlais.  It carried a noble duty, to be sure: the relationship between Orlais and the Inquisition had been chilly at best, and a marriage was the most diplomatic solution Josephine had come up with.  The Inquisitor refused to cater to the whims of individual nobles, which Cullen quite agreed with, but she was willing to work with Empress Celene.  And the Empress demanded a show of loyalty before she was willing to do anything to help them. 

            Enter Cullen. 

            He still wasn't sure why he'd agreed to it.  It didn't quite make sense that the arrangement involve him -- surely there were better, more diplomatic men than he.  But he couldn't think of anyone Orlais would find acceptable among the Inquisition, and the only other potential match was Grand Duke Gaspard.   Josephine had explained that when she'd suggested that the Inquisitor wed the Duke, the Empress had a fainting spell and had to be revived before they could continue their talks. 

            Such was Orlesian politics. 

            The conversation they'd just had was likely the thousandth iteration of the same complaints from Cullen, and the same ironclad tactics from Leliana and Josephine.  And like every other time he'd tried to bring a little Fereldan sensibility into a conversation about Orlais -- Maker forbid -- the Inquisitor had remained silent opposite the war table, intently studying the map and refusing to say a word. 

            Cullen suspected in these moments that it was not the Inquisitor but Talia who refused to speak.  Talia Trevelyan, who had confessed her feelings for him months ago.  Talia, whose lips had begged him to kiss them that day on the battlements.  Talia, the woman he'd turned down for the Inquisition, for duty, and Talia, the woman he'd pined after every day since. 

            It was duty that compelled him to say yes to this arrangement now as well, and yet he desperately wished he had a reason to say no. 

            But the Inquisitor -- no, Talia -- spoke up now, jostling him from his thoughts.  "I expect she'll make you wear a mask in bed, Commander," she teased, giving him a look.  "Or is even that too extreme for Orlais?" 

            "It has been some time since I was in bed with an Orlesian," Leliana answered as Cullen went scarlet.  He hadn't thought of that possibility.  "But I do recall that the masks were still on, at least at first." 

            Josephine must have seen Cullen's face.  "That was a long time ago, Commander.  Perhaps customs have changed." 

            Cullen snorted.  He couldn't help it; he wasn't trying to be rude, but come now.  "Be serious, Josephine.  The masks have been around for hundreds of years.  Do you really think that anything's changed?" 

            "At least they are known for their bedroom techniques, Commander," Leliana added, dismissing the issue with a wave of her hand. 

            "That does not -- I mean really Leliana, I… Maker's breath," he mumbled when he ran out of steam.  He didn't have the appropriate grasp of language at the moment to explain how ridiculous that was.  As if he would care about some fancy technique when there was a stranger in his bed. 

            The thought ran rampant through his mind, digging up memories he'd rather were kept quiet.  He could still see the demon before him, floating around wearing Solona Amell's face like a hideous mask, asking him unspeakable questions as he prayed in that cell.  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose, trying to clear his head.  His hand ached where it gripped the hilt of his sword, sweat running in cold rivulets down his spine. 

            The Inquisitor was the first to notice.  "Cullen?  _Cullen?_ "  His eyes snapped to her.   She'd obviously called his name several times.  "Are you all right?"  Her forehead was creased with concern, her emerald eyes worried. 

            "Yes, Inquisitor," he said, straightening up.  He'd need to change his shirt after the war council, he could tell.  It was soaked with sweat already, clinging to his back uncomfortably under his armor.  To train in it would be hell. 

            "We're nearly done," Josephine offered.  She went through the list of things that still needed to be done before their departure for Orlais in two days' time.  Cullen felt Leliana's sharp eyes on him throughout, but he managed to hold himself steady.  In doing so, he missed how the Inquisitor watched him as well. 

            His attention drifted the longer Josephine spoke, though thankfully this time it went somewhere different, but no less terrifying in its own way.  Instead of Kinloch, his memories drifted back to the day two weeks before when he'd decided against this endeavor, the day he'd gone to Josephine to ask her to retract their marriage alliance with Orlais, and she'd refused. 

            It was the day he and the Inquisitor had played chess. 

\---

            "Don't be ridiculous, Dorian," Cullen said, studying his pieces on the board.  "She's never asked my feelings on the arrangement, and why should she?  The matter is closed." 

            Across the board, the Tevinter mage made a hurry up gesture, twirling the one bishop of Cullen's he'd managed to capture in the previous hour over his fingers.  "She's never asked because she wants you for herself," he replied.  "Leliana bullied her into saying yes to the deal as much as you, and Josephine…" 

            "My esteemed colleague," Cullen interrupted before Dorian could say anything rude.  "Seems to find the whole notion romantic, if her war council plans are to be believed.  She's put together a whole courtyard wedding for the afternoon before the peace talks when we go to Halamshiral in a few weeks' time."   There were three nights of smaller balls leading up the negotiations, time Leliana and Josephine had arranged with the Empress so Cullen would have a chance to meet his future wife and feel a touch more comfortable with Orlesian customs before the ceremony.  Then, they'd wed the afternoon before the actual negotiations as a way to show the alliance between Orlais and the Inquisition, giving the Inquisitor stronger grounds in the talks. 

            It was a solid plan, even if Cullen was rather a puppet than a master player. 

            "Then she'd a bigger fool than I thought," Dorian suggested, and Cullen gave a noncommittal shrug.   Despite this venture, he liked Josephine.  Certainly she was less intimidating than Leliana. 

            "It is what it is, Dorian," he said, finally moving his piece.  "That doesn't change that the Inquisitor refuses to talk with me about it." 

            "I told you, she's hurt," Dorian said, moving his own piece rapidly to take Cullen's.  "You turned her down before, saying that the Inquisition's responsibilities demanded that you two cannot be together, and now you run off to marry another woman?" 

            "This is hardly running off," Cullen sighed.  "And anyway, what would you suggest I do?  Burst into her chambers, tell her I love her, and demand that she get me out of this Orlesian insanity so we can be together?"  

            He'd meant it as an absurdity, a rhetorical question for Dorian to confirm the impossibility of their situation and move on.  Instead, the mage froze.  Cullen looked up from studying the board to find Dorian's eyes trained on him, his mouth hanging open.  "What?" 

            Dorian's mustache twitched several times as he tried to speak.  Finally, he leaned in.  "You said you love her." 

            Cullen recoiled.  "I said nothing of the sort.  I don't, in fact, we are colleagues and perhaps friends, friends who get along well even if there is some awkwardness at times, and I most certainly do not --" 

            "Cullen.  You love her," Dorian said again, reaching out to still the Commander's hand where he'd reached for his queen.  Cullen paused where he was, thinking back over the last few months.  All the little moments with Talia were the ones that hung clearest in his mind -- after the initial awkwardness when she'd confessed her feelings and he'd rejected her, they'd actually become quite good friends.  They often ate breakfast together or held friendly sparring matches to keep their skills sharp, and on more than one occasion, they'd stayed up late into the night at the Herald's Rest, talking and laughing together.  He knew she still had feelings for him, and he knew he had feelings for her, but they went unsaid, the duties of the Inquisition always separating them. 

            "And what if I do?"  Cullen finally said, deflating.  He had for months, he saw that now.  All the things he'd done with her that were so out of character, the pranks and the late-night laughter, all the things they'd talked about and shared, all the things he'd done just to see her laugh or smile:  It was suddenly, painfully clear that he'd been in love with her all along.  "There's nothing to be done, Dorian.  This business with Orlais is decided.  I no longer have a choice, and neither does she." 

            "Neither does who?"  asked a voice, and Cullen startled out of his chair. 

            "Inquisitor!" 

            "Hello darling," Dorian drawled, moving his last piece.  "Your move, Cullen."  He gave the Commander a significant look, and Cullen frowned at him. 

            "We must pause our game for our leader, Dorian," he said carefully.  How much had she heard? 

            Talia smiled.  "Please, don't stop on my account." 

            Cullen couldn’t help smiling back.  He turned back to the board, spotting the mistake Dorian had made when the Inquisitor walked up.  With a flourish he couldn't deny was just him showing off, he moved his knight into position.  "I have you now," he announced.  "Checkmate." 

            "Then have me," Dorian said, lazily reaching out to knock over his king.  "Better yet, have the Inquisitor -- she quite enjoys chess."  He stood, grasping Talia's elbow to guide her into the seat opposite Cullen.   "I will find you later, darling.  For now, please spank the pants off our illustrious Commander."  He sauntered off, leaving them both red-faced and avoiding each other's eyes. 

            Finally, Talia reached out to reset the board.  "Do you think it's possible for him to talk without it being a double entendre?"  She asked casually, collecting Cullen's missing pieces from under the chair cushions where Dorian had spirited them away. 

            Cullen snorted, moving to take the offered pieces from her.  "Unlikely.  I suspect his whole life is an innuendo." 

            Talia considered this as she lined up her pawns.  "There is a reason I no longer take both him and Bull with me into the field."  She looked up at Cullen through her bangs, a smirk on her lips.  "No one was getting any sleep, least of all them."  She winked. 

            Cullen blushed, looking away.  How had he never noticed before?  His heart leapt in his chest when she smiled, when she laughed, and he couldn't help following the movement of her lips with his eyes, hanging on every word.  He loved her, and he'd never known. 

            They set up the rest of the board in companionable silence, Cullen gesturing for Talia to start when he couldn't trust himself to speak.  They played for a few quiet moves before Talia finally looked up at him, studying his face. 

            "If I may ask," she began.  "What were you and Dorian talking about when I interrupted?" 

            Cullen looked at her for a long moment before answering.  "My… arrangement, with Orlais.  Dorian does not approve." 

            "Oh?"  She moved her castle, giving Cullen a welcome opportunity to study the board instead of her face. 

            "Not in the least.  He… feels I should only marry for love, I suppose."  He glanced up in time to see Talia smile a little sadly and quickly averted his eyes. 

            "Clearly Dorian doesn't understand duty the way we do," she replied.  Silence settled over them again, this time heavy with everything unsaid.  After a few rounds, Cullen ventured to speak, wondering if this could be the moment he suddenly needed to tell her how he felt. 

            "What about you, Inquisitor?  Don't you approve?" 

            She paused where she was, her hand on her king.  He watched a slew of emotions flicker over her face -- she never was skilled in masking her emotions, though she was getting better -- and waited. 

            Finally, she spoke, making her move as she did.  "I… understand why we asked it of you, yes," she said.

            "But do you approve?" Cullen pushed, hope building in his chest.  

            She avoided his gaze.  "I admit, I hesitate to marry off …"  She paused to take a deep breath, and Cullen held his own.  What would she say?  Someone she cared about?  Her best friend?  Her crush?  "… the Inquisition's military advisor," she finished, and he deflated.  "Especially after Adamant.  I don't know how we will get along without you for a few weeks while you get to know your new wife." 

            "I will return soon enough, Inquisitor," Cullen said, straightening in his chair and schooling his face into a neutral expression as he exhaled.  "You shan't be without my advice to reject for long." 

            She smiled then, and he felt something in his chest let go.  "Cullen.  I don't always reject your advice." 

            "Just almost always," he replied, the easy camaraderie settling over them again.  They kept playing, talking of other things for a while before Talia reached out suddenly and laid her hand over his.  Her fingers were warm through the leather of his gloves, and he shifted to curl his fingers around her hand. 

            "Cullen… all military minded advice aside, I don't want to lose you," she said softly, squeezing his hand. 

            "It… must be done this way, Inquisitor," he replied, swallowing over the lump in his throat.  Talia leaned over the table, and he found himself cupping her face in one hand, her fingers holding his wrist tightly. 

            "I know," she said softly.  "I know.  I wish…"  She leaned in further and Cullen moved to meet her, pulse rushing wildly.  Could this be it?  Would she kiss him?  Could he have a legitimate reason to break off this arranged marriage nonsense and be with her, Inquisition be damned? 

            Then someone walked by, and the tension broke.  Talia recoiled, pulling herself out of Cullen's grasp, and cleared her throat awkwardly.  Cullen carefully resettled himself in his chair, bracing his fingers together to hide their shaking. 

            "I'm sorry, Inquisitor," he said, though he didn't know what he was apologizing for.  It seemed someone should. 

            Opposite him, Talia studied the chess board, chest heaving.  Cullen tried not to stare at the sliver of skin that showed where her top buttons were undone, as always.  He couldn't think of her that way, not now.  He was to be married, and she was his leader.    

            Just as he'd told Dorian, there was nothing to be done. 

            "I… hope you will be happy, Cullen," she said finally, eyes downcast.  "I would want my… best friend to be happy."  When she glanced up, Cullen swore he saw tears in her eyes. 

            "Thank you, Inquisitor," he replied softly.  His heart settled like a weight in his stomach.  They played the rest of their game in silence, Cullen making sloppy mistakes in an effort to end it quickly.  He needed to get away from her.  He needed her like a fire needed air, and that was never to be. 

            When he tipped his king to her, Talia stood swiftly.  "Thank you for the game, Commander," she said.  "I trust it won't be our last?" 

            "There are several weeks until the Winter Palace, Inquisitor.  I expect I will have at least some time to myself before then."  He could not say he'd want to spend every moment with her, not now.  But it was the truth. 

            She nodded.   "I hope so."  She hovered over him as he cleaned up the pieces, twisting her hands around each other until he finished and stood to leave. 

            "Until next time, Inquisitor," he said softly, pressing his fist over his heart in a small salute.  When she hugged him, it almost knocked the breath out of him. 

            "I just want you to be happy," she whispered in his ear.  "If this is it, then… but if it is not, tell Josie.  Please." 

            Cullen did not reply.  Instead, he hugged her back as much as possible with a box of chess pieces in one hand and his other trapped between their chests.  Though he knew he shouldn't, he turned his face into her hair, inhaling its crystal grace scent and wishing he could hold onto this moment forever. 

            He thought she left the smallest of kisses on his cheek as she pulled away.  But he couldn't be sure, and she was hurrying away before he could ask, before he could kiss her properly, before he could do anything.  He watched her go, bound by duty to let the woman he loved walk away. 

            The walk from the gardens to Josephine's office was a short one.  Cullen pondered what he'd say to her as he went, building the case against his arranged marriage in his head.  As it turned out, his argument didn't matter much. 

            "I know what you are here to say," Josephine said when he walked in.  She didn't look up from the letter she was writing.  "And it is too late to call off the alliance between yourself and the Grand Duchess. " 

            Cullen was too surprised to speak. 

            "You had the opportunity to decline, Commander," Josephine continued.  "That time has passed.  The marriage has been announced, and the alliance papers have been drawn up.  To back out now could ruin the Inquisition."  Finally she looked up, leveling a gaze at him that would have frozen Leliana in her tracks.   "Despite your victory at Adamant, we are still built on shifting sands.  Ferelden's support is tenured through Talia's friendship with King Alistair, and our standing with Orlais succeeds or falls on your marriage to Florianne." 

            Cullen finally found his voice.  "I cannot, Josephine.  I cannot be a husband to a woman I do not know, let alone a woman I do not love.  That is not who I am, nor is it the world I was brought up in.  I cannot." 

            Josephine put down her quill.  "You can, and you will, Commander.  You gave your word, and despite your humble origins, your word means a great deal." 

            "But Josephine, surely you must understand --" 

            "I understand perfectly well," she said, her voice losing its hard edge.  Carefully she reached out and brushed her fingers over a vase of white flowers on her desk.  "I understand love that will not be, Cullen."  She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment.  "But this is a role you accepted.  It is your duty now to uphold the Inquisition." 

            He could feel hope slipping away, leaving his insides cold and hollow.  Of all the people involved in setting this up, he had not expected Josephine to be so adamant. 

            When he did not speak, the diplomat went back to her work.  "I am involved in such an arrangement myself, Commander," she offered quietly.  "A nobleman I know only by reputation.  My parents wrote me last month to announce our engagement. When the Inquisition is finished, we will wed."  She let it hang in the air before looking up, catching his gaze.  "At least you were given the opportunity to decline." 

            Cullen heard what she wasn't saying.  _You could have said no, Cullen.  You should have kissed the Inquisitor months ago, you fool, so this would never come to pass.   And you squandered that opportunity, so now you must lie in the bed you have made._  

            He heaved a sigh, closing his eyes and trying not to remember how Talia felt in his arms.  "You are right, of course, Josephine," he murmured finally.  "You'll hear no further complaints from me on the matter." 

            He closed the door behind him carefully as he left.  The path back to his tower was fraught with obstacles, but Cullen saw none of them.  All he could think of was the pain on Talia's face when she said she didn't want to lose him, the warmth of her hand on his, and the hollow feeling in his chest that they could never be. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

            Josephine had explained the elaborate procession they were to be part of as they approached the Winter Palace, but all her description could not convey the bloated Orlesian take on the matter.  All around him, Cullen saw nobles in masks, streamers floating down over their horses and flower petals strewn across the path, and beyond it all, the immense blue and silver façade of the Winter Palace itself rising above the estate surrounding it.   Inquisition banners fluttered in the breeze as they were carried before the Inquisitor herself, flanked by her Spymaster and Ambassador. 

            It was a procession worthy of royalty, reflecting all the frippery and banalities of Orlais itself and nothing of the military might of the Inquisition.

            Cullen rode behind the Inquisitor with Dorian, though he'd have much preferred to be arriving later with his soldiers.  Josephine had insisted that he be part of the procession at their meeting before they left, saying that the Grand Duchess would expect to meet her future husband upon their arrival at Halamshiral.  That he was without a mask was the only battle he'd won in all of this; he would wear one starting tomorrow night at the first ball, but for now, he had his way.  His intended would see his face -- a scandal that had required Josephine to write ahead and warn her, apparently -- long before he would see hers. 

              He fidgeted with his uniform jacket as they rode.  Every Inner Circle member wore the same uniform, a crimson coat with a blue belt and sash, freshly commissioned by Josephine and Vivienne to show the united front of the Inquisition.  They had even come to watch a tailor take Cullen's measurements, insisting that he participate. 

            He'd said yes, of course.  It wouldn't do to start saying no now. 

            In fact, he didn't mind the uniforms, as they lent the Inquisition the feel of the military organization they truly were.  But the coat was a touch too small, and thus uncomfortable.  Cullen knew he had many more nights to look forward to in this ridiculous outfit, and so he tried to get used to it.  Josephine had ordered him a crisp black jacket with golden accents for the wedding ceremony itself, but otherwise this was to be his uniform for the nights of festivities leading up to the negotiations.  It was to be the main differentiating feature for him that night, to make him stand out for his new bride. 

            One other in their group would also be different: The Inquisitor. 

            She led the procession now in an elegant dress, the first Cullen had ever seen her in.  Done in the Orlesian style of a fitted bodice and off the shoulder sleeves, the dress mirrored the Inquisition's colors, its long crimson skirt accented with gold stitching and a blue sash.  Josephine had insisted the Inquisitor ride side-saddle as well, one knee pulled up to rest across the top in the style of a true noblewoman.  The skirt billowed out over her horse, and from his perspective behind her, Cullen could watch her fidget with the draping when she wasn't trying to keep the collar from sliding down. 

            It was beautiful, to be sure, but Cullen was quite certain the Inquisitor -- Talia -- hated it. 

            "I've never seen her in a skirt," Dorian commented beside him, a break from his endless griping about his saddle-sore behind and the color of his coat.  Red did not suit him, apparently.  "She doesn't seem the type, really." 

            "She isn't, no," Cullen replied, his eyes fixed on the Inquisitor's gently sloping shoulders.  The dress came to a shallow V across her back, revealing the edges of the scars that marred one shoulder under her curling hair.  How he wanted to wind one of those curls around his fingers, trace the lines of her skin along the fabric. 

            "It doesn't suit you to pine, my friend," Dorian murmured, following Cullen's gaze.  The Commander blushed and made a show of looking anywhere but at Talia.  "You talked to Josie, before we left?" 

            "At the Inquisitor's urging, I told you," Cullen said, keeping his voice low.  "There's nothing to be done." 

            "A shame," Dorian said.  "I've talked to her, you know," he added, pointedly not making eye contact when Cullen wheeled to face him. 

            "And?" he demanded, struggling to keep his horse from getting out of line in his agitation. 

            "She is… distressed.  Heartbroken, in my professional opinion, though she wouldn't say more.  Have you spoken with Cassandra?"  They were approaching the front courtyard of the Winter Palace now, its enormous gardens stretching into eternity before them.  An honor guard awaited them, to direct their people to the home of Grand Duke Gaspard, where they'd be staying. 

            "I have not.  I don't know that she can do anything," Cullen said with a sigh.  As soon as they stopped, he would have to step into his role as betrothed.  His future wife would be among those waiting to greet him, and he could not disappoint. 

            "Likely true," Dorian said, nodding.  "But she could commiserate, surely?" 

            "Of that I have no doubt."  In front of them, the banner men slowed, the Inquisitor behind them.  Without looking back, Josephine snapped her fingers sharply at Cullen and the others, and they all straightened to attention as they turned the corner. 

            "We're dismounting ahead," she called back. 

            "That means don't embarrass yourselves," Dorian added in a stage whisper.  Somewhere behind them, Cullen heard Sera snort. 

            A crowd awaited them in the next courtyard, smaller but no less fine than the one just outside the Winter Palace.  In the back, a long line of plainly clad elven servants waited with bowed heads, while nobles overflowing with masks and coattails and enormous feathered hats crowded in to see the Inquisition's top officials.  Two figures waited at the base of the elaborate staircase into the chateau, identical to the rest of the nobles but for their vivid blue and gold clothing. 

            "Our hosts await us," Josephine murmured over her shoulder as the procession came to a stop before the waiting crowd.  All around, noblemen separated themselves from the crowd to offer the ladies assistance dismounting, and Cullen watched with gritted teeth as the man at the staircase came to offer his hand to the Inquisitor herself.   His elaborate gold mask, complete with the ridiculous phallic nose common to Orlesian menswear, hid all but his chin and balding head, yet Talia gave him a coy smile as she allowed him to help her.   Cullen forced down the jealousy rising in his throat.  The man could only be Grand Duke Gaspard, their host at the Winter Palace, but the thought of Talia playing The Game with him made Cullen's stomach turn. 

            The Grand Duke pressed a kiss to the Inquisitor's hand.  "Inquisitor Trevelyan.  I have heard so much about you.  Imagine what the Inquisition could accomplish with the full might of the Orlesian army behind you, led by the rightful Emperor." 

            The Inquisitor looked at a loss, and Cullen started to step in.  Josephine, however, beat him to it.  "We are looking forward to the negotiations, my lord," she said, giving the Grand Duke a deep curtsy.  "For now, we are most grateful for your generous hospitality." 

            "I am happy to provide.  I am not a man who forgets his friends," the Duke replied, his tone heavy with things unsaid. 

            "I can see the potential behind such an alliance," Talia added a little too late, but Gaspard only smiled. 

            "With that in mind, let me introduce my sister, the Grand Duchess Florianne de Chalons."  He gestured to the woman who had been waiting beside him, and once again Cullen felt his stomach clench. 

            His future wife stepped up beside her brother, her short blond hair swept back from a face concealed by an enormous mask.  "Inquisitor Trevelyan," she trilled, her lips pursed in a permanent semi-smile.  "We welcome you, and your party, to Halamshiral."  Her eyes slid over to Cullen, icy blue meeting amber for a moment before she looked the rest of him over.  "We are hopeful you will enjoy your stay." 

            "O-of course," Talia forced out, and once again, Josephine stepped in. 

            "And may I present Cullen Rutherford, the Commander of the Inquisition."  She reached behind her for Cullen's arm, pulling him forward.  It was only the training she'd drilled into him that saved him as he bowed before his intended bride. 

            "My lady," he breathed.  "I am most pleased to meet you." 

            "And I you," the Duchess responded, giving a small curtsy.  She looked at him expectantly -- as much as he could tell under the mask -- and he struggled for something to say. 

            "You… look lovely this afternoon, my lady," he finally said.  Josephine gave him a horrified look, and he blushed.  "What?" 

            "You'll forgive Commander Rutherford," she said, practically shoving him out of the way.  "It has been a long journey.  Shall we go inside?"  A hand bunched itself in his jacket as Dorian pulled him backward into the line of the Inner Circle.  He nearly stumbled, but another hand caught him just as Blackwall stepped past him to the Grand Duchess. 

            "May I escort you, my lady," Blackwall said, offering her his arm. 

            "Of course, thank you," she replied as they turned to follow where Gaspard had already escorted the Inquisitor inside.  Leliana and Josephine followed, though Josephine turned around to give him one more dirty look before she vanished. 

            Cullen did his best not to made a rude gesture. 

            "What was that?"  He asked Dorian as they made their way through the extravagant hallways of Gaspard's palace.  The mage didn't answer, absorbed in whatever Gaspard was saying about the enormous paintings that lined the halls.  Cullen was sure the eyes were following him, giving him the eerie feeling of being watched. 

            "Stuffy Orlesian bullshit, is what," Sera said, patting his arm as she pushed past him into a side room.  "Not like people, not here."  She vanished through the door without another word. 

            Cullen glanced around at his remaining companions, again confused.  "And where did she go?" 

            "Into the servants' quarters," Solas said as he appeared by Cullen's side.  The Commander tried not to jump.  "I apologize, Commander, I thought they'd have told you.  Sera and I will be assuming the roles of the elven servants here, to provide Leliana additional information.  Should you need me…"  He gestured toward a bell hidden discretely near the door before giving Cullen a wink and vanishing himself. 

            Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to calm himself.  Why was he privy to no one's plans this trip?  He might be getting married, but it was of little importance; he was still the Commander, not some sodding bridegroom overwhelmed on his wedding day.  He was still a soldier. 

            A hand fell heavily on his shoulder, and he looked up.  Cassandra. 

            "I am sorry they've left you out of the planning, Commander," she said, giving him a small smile to offset how cold her accent made her sound. 

            Cullen tried to smile back, but he could feel how tight and false it was on his face.  "I serve no purpose here, Cassandra.  They marry me off like a piece of meat, knowing how I despise the Game, and yet I am allowed no part in pulling any of this off! What nonsense!" 

            She squeezed his shoulder.  "The plan to prevent Celene's assassination needs to be put into place tonight," she reminded him, and he heaved a sigh again.

            "Yes, of course," he replied, straightening up.  "And I know I serve a vital role there.  Thank you for reminding me, Cassandra, I appreciate it." 

            "I am glad to help, Commander.  Should you require assistance, you'll find me quite uncomfortable in the dining room I am sure."   Cullen grabbed her arm before she could move away. 

            "Do you have any idea what I said wrong to my… to the Duchess?"  He asked, unable to wrap his tongue around the idea of his future wife. 

            Cassandra glanced at the Inquisitor and her escorts as they gained distance before turning back to Cullen.  "You told her she looked nice." 

            Cullen gave her a confused look.  "And what's wrong with that?" 

            "You said how you feel, Commander," the Seeker said, turning to catch up to her compatriots.  "And that is not allowed in Orlais." 

            He stared after her, willing himself to have heard that wrong.  Maker's breath, how was he to survive if he couldn't say what he felt? 

            The Inquisitor's laugh echoed down the hall, and his heart jumped.  He'd been hiding how he felt from himself for a long time; perhaps never again saying how he really felt would prove easier than he expected. 

\---

            Cullen fell against the wall just outside the dining room.  His chest heaved as he gasped for air, fingers clawing at his jacket collar in an effort to loosen it.  The ornate walls spun around him, lights twinkling, and a wave of nausea washed over him. 

            He couldn't go back in there.  He couldn't, not into that room of smiling, blank faces so like those that had once tormented him, walls closing in and lights spinning as his comrades died around him.  His heart was pounding out of his chest, his throat tight. 

            His knees buckled, vision going black, and he slid toward the floor.   

            The marble was cool under his cheek, sending a shiver through him.  He turned into the sensation, the sweat on his brow leaving damp smears on the stone as he soaked in the cold.  With detached interest, he watched his fingers clench and unclench. 

            "Cullen!"  Who was that?  He wasn't sure.  He couldn't see, couldn't turn his head, why could he only see shoes and skirts?  

            A gloved hand swam into view and pressed against his forehead.  "Maker, of course you aren't all right," the voice muttered, and he vaguely wondered why she was asking.  What had he missed?

            Then someone was moving him, someone big enough to carry him, for he could see his knees when he opened his eyes, his knees and his chest and the cornflower blue sash they'd slashed across his too-tight jacket.  High-heels clicked on the floor.  Perhaps the Inquisitor was carrying him.  No, that didn't make sense.  Cullen outweighed her by eighty pounds, easily, and he was close to six inches taller than her. 

            "Too tall," he muttered, "I'm too tall."  The person carrying him looked down.  "And you look like an ox," he said, taking in the blurry horns.  He felt a laugh vibrate through him, and closed his eyes again, soothed back to darkness. 

            The next time he opened his eyes, the world wasn't swimming. 

            He sat up slowly.  A thin blanket slid off his chest, pooling in his lap.  His jacket was gone, and he blushed as he realized his shirt had gone with it.  Lifting the blanket, he inspected his lower half -- his pants and smalls were still in place, thank the Maker, and if he tried he could see his boots dumped on the floor.  His jacket hung over one of the elaborate gold and white chairs in his room.  He'd hated them on sight. Why did anyone need a chair covered in gold leaf vines and flowers?  What happened to  simple cushions and legs, everything a man needed to sit comfortably and work? 

            He realized he'd spoken aloud when a low laugh came from the other side of the room. 

            "That's very Fereldan of you, Commander," the Inquisitor said gently.  She rose from the couch near the fire, her skirts rustling. 

            "Inquisitor," Cullen said, swallowing to get rid of the rasp in his voice.  "I'm… not really decent." 

            She produced a tea tray and carried it over to him.  "I've seen you in the sparring ring, Cullen, and I've seen you sick before.  This is no different." 

            He ran his hand over the back of his neck and down over the scars on his shoulder.  "I suppose."  He watched as she made herself comfortable, perched on the edge of the bed, and handed him a cup of tea.  "Thank you."  Steam curled off the top of it, and Cullen breathed it in slowly, preparing himself to be disappointed by the weak Orlesian blend. 

            To his surprise, it smelled familiar.  "What…"  He glanced up to find the Inquisitor watching him, a small smile on her face, before he turned back to the tea.  Blowing across the top, he took a sip:  it was the King's Blend, the same Fereldan tea he special ordered from Denerim.  It had been a special treat on Satinalia growing up, along with those chocolate cranberry cookies his mother used to make, and the second he made enough money, he'd started ordering it.  A little piece of home in the chaos of his life. 

            He took another sip, allowing his eyes to drift closed as he savored it. 

            "How did you… No, why did you…"  he began when he could, and the Inquisitor dropped her gaze. 

            She started fixing some for herself, idly clinking the spoon around her cup.  "It's your favorite," she explained softly.  "I figured it out when we had tea after you were sick.   It's different than what Josephine orders, and I thought…"  She glanced over at him and looked away again.  "I thought I'd bring some, just in case you needed it.  Everything here is Orlesian.  Perhaps you'd want a little bit of Ferelden." 

            Surprise washed over him.  "I-- thank you."  The warmth from the cup in his hands spread slowly, enveloping him. 

            They sipped in silence until Cullen asked for a second cup.  Tea helped, but his arms felt shaky, his muscles weak, and with the cup safely nestled in his hands, he leaned back against the pillows of his bed.  "What happened?"  he asked, unsure if he wanted to hear the answer. 

            She looked at him, eyebrows raised.  "You'll… have to tell me most of it, I'm afraid.  I saw you leave dinner, and you didn't look well, so I followed.  By the time I got out into the hall… you'd passed out, or fallen, or something."   Turning away, she studied the cup in her hands.  "You were on the floor, hands grasping at air almost like a seizure.  Bull carried you here." 

            Cullen smiled in spite of himself.  "I believe I woke up and called him an ox," he remembered, and Talia snorted into her tea.  

            "What else do you remember?" she asked when the moment passed. 

            He drank slowly as he thought about it, urging his senses to stay with the familiar taste instead of that dining room.  "The dining room… brought up… Kinloch," he said hesitantly, knowing she would remember the name of his first station as a Templar.  He'd told her the truth about it, just her, when he'd nearly succumbed to withdrawal, and he glanced around now for Bull.  The qunari could keep a secret, but this was one Cullen kept for himself. 

            "Bull's gone," Talia said before he could ask.  _She remembers,_ Cullen thought.  No, not just that -- _she understands._ "You can speak freely."

            He nodded.  His fingers were white where they clutched the cup, and quickly he set it aside lest he crack it.  "The masks… bother me," he admitted.  "They remind me of…"  He couldn't say it.  This was the culture he was about to marry into, a world he'd live in for the rest of his life.  How could he admit that every piece of it sent him fumbling back in memory to the days he'd spent locked up, teased, tortured, by demons wearing the faces of everyone he'd ever loved?

            Talia's hand on his brought him out of his head.  "What else?" 

            How could she have known there was more?  "It's not just that.  I'm… scared, Inquisitor.  Talia."  He moved to catch her fingers.  "I don't know what to make of this fancy world, and yet I'm to marry into it.  Maker's breath, I told her she looked nice and Josephine nearly strangled me."  He gave a hollow laugh.  "What else am I going to do wrong?" 

            "I know, Cullen," she said quietly.  She squeezed his hand before dropping her gaze.  "I'm sorry you are in this situation.  I should have…" 

            He squeezed her hand back.  "It's too late now.  But I'm glad you're here to take care of me.  I'd be lost without my… my best friend."   Hurt flashed over her face, and his heart clenched.  It wasn't what he wanted to say, but he couldn't say anything else.  Not now.  He didn't want to hurt her, couldn’t bear to hurt her. 

            "I'm glad to be here with you," she replied, her voice a near whisper.   The urge to pull her into his arms nearly overwhelmed him at the pain in her eyes.

            She stood up, smoothing her skirts before she gathered up the teacups.  He passed her his, their fingers brushing over the porcelain.   When she spoke again, her voice was stronger.  "Will you be all right in here?  I have to get back to dinner.  Gaspard will be wondering where I went." 

            "You're not going to marry him, are you?"  The question slipped out before Cullen could stop it.  Perhaps it was one more thing he didn't want to be in the dark on.  Perhaps he just wanted to know that she was still safe from this place.  Perhaps it was his own treacherous heart that couldn't let her go. 

            Talia, thankfully, laughed.  "No, Celene threatened to declare war should we so openly back her cousin.  Josephine had to pull some strings to avoid it just on the mere suggestion."  She set the tea tray on a side table and pulled a bell rope Cullen hadn't noticed.  "Josie has… other plans for me."

            "Like what?"  He swung his legs over the side of the bed, intending to get dressed and go back to dinner soon after the Inquisitor. 

            She stopped him with a gesture.  "Another time, Cullen.  In the meantime, you should rest.  You'll get plenty of Orlesian excitement tomorrow night, and we have an early war council.  I'll make your excuses, so don't worry."   With a last look over her shoulder at him, Talia left, closing the door quietly behind her.   

            Cullen did get up, pulling a clean tunic over his head to hide his scars.  What would his future bride think on their wedding night upon seeing the ugliness that marred her new husband's flesh?  Would she find him repulsive?  They'd be trapped regardless, a marriage that perhaps she didn't want either.  His stomach turned when another thought hit him: Perhaps he would find _her_ repulsive.  

            He sank on the couch near the fire.  It wouldn’t matter.  He'd dislike anyone who wasn't Talia Trevelyan, the one woman he wanted and the one he couldn’t have.  Florianne could be the most beautiful woman in Thedas, and he wouldn't care. 

            His gaze fell on the tea tray, his chest warming when he remembered how thoughtful Talia was to bring his favorite tea.  He should do something for her in return, to thank her.  Dorian would suggest a big romantic gesture, of course, serenading her from the balconies or some such nonsense.  Cullen was quite sure he couldn't pull that off, not without dying from embarrassment. 

            Or Josephine would draw and quarter him for ruining their alliance, and he couldn't have that either.  The reality of their situation was far too inflexible for anything like that. 

            An elven servant was clearing away the tea tray when Cullen's eyes refocused.  "Wondered where you'd gone," the servant said, and with a start, Cullen realized he knew her. 

            "Sera!" 

            She tossed a biscuit at him with a laugh.  "Course it's me.  Got my rooms switched so I could take care of the Inquisition folk.  You all right?" 

            A smile spread across Cullen's face as an idea formed.  "Sera, I was wondering if you could do me a favor?"

 


	3. Chapter 3

            Cullen arrived early for their war council, eager to make up for having fallen ill at dinner.  No one else was there yet.  The Inquisitor was likely still doing her morning forms, while Josephine was no doubt fretting over something, somewhere, that Cullen couldn't have given less of a shite about.  Maker only knew where Leliana was. 

            He studied the map of Winter Palace, memorizing the myriad twists and turns of its hallways.  The palace itself was enormous, but that wasn't all the ground they needed to cover in the next days -- the Grand Apartments, the gardens, the guest wings, and the servants' quarters would all need to be investigated at least once before the Grand Ball itself. 

            The notes over what they knew about the threat against Empress Celene's life were thankfully at the table.  When he'd finished going over the maps, Cullen picked them up.  Leliana's tiny, cramped handwriting detailed every last fact or speculation they could evidence safely, and the resulting report filled page after page.  Cullen had read it all before, and the council had briefed the Inquisitor at the same meeting where he'd asked about wearing his mask.  They'd learned little new since arriving yesterday. 

            But now they were here, and that meant everything had changed.  Cullen expected his lieutenant's report on their troop movements any minute.  They were still arriving, but as they did, Leliana's agent Charger was assigning posts and creating a guard rotation based on the positions they needed.  No doubt Sera and Solas were helping based on what they'd learned.  The Inquisitor was spending the day with Gaspard and Florianne, touring the Palace and its grounds under the pretense of hospitality.  The council would meet again just prior to the first ball to decide on their focus for the evening, as no one expected the attempt on Celene's life until the Grand Ball in a few nights' time. 

            A complicated plan to be sure, and Cullen expected their meeting this morning to last several hours.   He sank into a chair in these few minutes before the others arrived, some of the last moments of solitude before their Orlesian undertaking truly began. 

            Homesickness washed over him as he leaned on the plush cushions.  He missed the hardy stone towers of Skyhold and the bustle of activity he could always hear in the yard.  If only he could hear men training now, or walk down the battlements to listen to Blackwall and Dennet argue over the stables and the horses.  He'd give near anything to wander through the kitchens and beg a plate of dinner off Cook in the late evening hours, having worked through suppertime yet again. 

            The door to the council room opened, and Cullen straightened immediately.  It wouldn't do for Josephine to find him sulking, not with the anger she surely harbored over his vanishing from dinner last night. 

            To his relief, it was the Inquisitor. 

            She walked straight to the table, clad in her usual beige leggings and a mug of what was probably coffee clutched in one hand.  It found its place beside her as she bent over the map of the Palace.  She still hadn't noticed Cullen, and he took the moment to admire her profile as she read. 

            He remembered finding her beautiful from the moment he first saw her, back when she was little more than a terrified prisoner being lead to a probable death.  At that time, he hadn't given her a second thought other than to be amazed by the vivid green of her eyes -- they were three days into the Breach's reign over the Temple, and he was exhausted.  It was only later, after she'd risen as the Herald of Andraste and he'd first spoken to her, that he'd recognized just how lovely she was. 

            He remembered the agony of Haven, after they'd spent hours talking or sparring or playing Wicked Grace, after he'd learned just how clever and funny and compassionate their Herald truly was.  She had stepped out of that Chantry to save them all, and Cullen remembered watching her close the doors behind her, praying to the Maker that He would see fit to spare the woman he was lucky enough to call a friend. 

            He remembered the disappointment on her face, mirroring what he hid in his heart, when he told her they couldn't be together.  The hope had drained out of her eyes, leaving her face drawn and older than her 28 years, and he had felt like a monster for it. 

            To his immense relief, he hadn't driven her away, and he remembered what they'd been like after that day, the friendship that had continued to grow even with the shadow of the battlements hanging over them.  He'd taught her how to play chess, she'd taught him how to play pranks, and they'd both learned how to cope and survive when lyrium withdrawal tried to take him and the Fade tried to take her. 

            She was his best friend, this remarkable woman who put her life on the line yet again at the Winter Palace.  Looking back at their time together now, Cullen had no idea how he'd never seen how much he loved her. 

            When she looked up, smiling when she finally noticed him, Cullen felt his heart fracture in his chest.  It could never be, but oh how desperately he wished he'd been able to kiss her just one time. 

            "How are you this morning?"  She asked as she sat down beside him.  "Feeling better?" 

            "Much, thank you," Cullen replied, trying to steady his voice.  "Have you seen the others yet this morning?" 

            She chuckled.  "Leliana should be back within the hour.  She went to investigate a report of a mysterious package showing up the servants' quarters, probably just one of Sera's stinkbombs.   She said to start without her.  And Josephine should be here momentarily.  She was just behind me at breakfast." 

            On cue, the door opened and their esteemed diplomat walked in.  "Good morning Inquisitor, Commander," she greeted them, giving them a stunningly bright smile.  "I trust you are well rested and prepared for this?" 

            "Of course, Josephine," Talia said, giving Cullen a sideways smirk.  She stood and joined Josephine at the table. 

            "And you, Commander?" Josephine turned to him, her smile still in place but her eyes cold.  "I saw you did not return from your incident at dinner last night." 

            "I'm sorry, Josephine, I was not well last night," Cullen said, following Talia's lead to stand by the table.  "I am better now, and I don't anticipate it happening again. " 

            Josephine made a note on her writing board.  "See that it doesn't, Commander.  We must not give Orlais any indication that you are hesitant when it comes to our alliance." 

            "For Maker's sake, Josie, have some compassion," Talia snapped before Cullen could say anything.  The diplomat looked quite taken aback.  "The man passed out on the marble floor.  Certainly even you wouldn't suggest that he should have hung back and done that at the dinner table." 

            For the first time since this business with Orlais had started, Josephine looked flustered.  "No, of course not, I merely --  I am sorry, Commander.  Do you require a healer?" 

            Cullen gave Talia a grateful look.  "As I said, I'm fine, but I appreciate your concern." 

            He caught the look Josephine sent Talia as the matter dropped.  The Ambassador was sweet and good-natured at Skyhold, more skilled at negotiating than anyone Cullen had ever met, but here in her element, she was terrifying. 

            The first few minutes of their meeting were spent reviewing the facts of the threat, largely to burn time until Leliana could join them.  Once the Spymaster did, apologizing that she was late, they got to work. 

            Hours passed.  The plan took shape slowly, details added as reports were passed around the tables and fresh eyes caught new evidence.  Finally, just as a servant appeared with a tea tray, they leaned back, satisfied. 

            "All evidence still points to the assassination attempt on the night of the Grand Ball," Leliana summarized, passing cups of steaming tea around.  Talia waved her off, citing the fresh coffee pot that accompanied the tray. 

            "Even so, I stand by my recommendation.  Guards posted throughout, and sweeps of all the spaces before, during, and after each ball would be enough to give us some peace of mind," Cullen said, accepting a cup.  It would be the watery Orlesian blend he so despised, but nothing could be done about that now.  The thought of a cup of real Fereldan tea later buoyed his spirits, aided by the plate of cookies he spotted on the tray. 

            "I agree with the Commander," Josephine said.  She sipped her cup delicately.  "But we must dress the soldiers to blend with the Orlesian nobility.  If Celene found out, or Maker's mercy, Gaspard, it could cast a pall on the entire negotiations." 

            "We warned Celene, didn't we?"  Talia's frown emphasized the question Cullen had wanted to ask himself.  It made no sense for the Inquisition to leave the Empress in the dark. 

            "I spoke with her yesterday," Josephine replied.  "Our letters from Skyhold never made it, as we suspected, but she is aware now.  She seems… unconcerned."  The diplomat blew on her tea, the hard line of her mouth suggesting just how ridiculous she found Celene's dismissal. 

            Leliana handed Talia an envelope as she moved to sit on the edge of the table.  "I will assign Sera and Solas to question the servants about Briala as well then.  The more we know about her, the better.  What do you think of our elven ambassador, Commander?"  She sipped her tea, waiting expectantly. 

            Cullen wasn't listening.  Instead, he watched the Inquisitor over the brim of his cup, the curiosity on her face as she used her finger to tear open the envelope and the smile that broke now as she read his note. 

            _A little piece of home for you as well, Inquisitor._

            She stood and took a cookie from the tray, her eyes closing for the briefest of moments as she took a bite.  They were those cinnamon cranberry ones, her favorites -- Cullen's too, actually, since Talia had written to his sister Mia to get the recipe their mother used to make.  He'd asked Sera the night before if she could make some and make sure the Inquisitor got them.  He just hadn't known it would be now, when he could see how much simple pleasure they brought her. 

            "Cullen?"  Leliana's voice trilled over his name, and he snapped back to attention. 

            "I'm sorry, Leliana, I was miles away." 

            "Perhaps not," she said, those knowing eyes flitting to the Inquisitor and back to him.  "But I digress.  What do you think of Briala?" 

            Cullen took a sip of tea to buy himself time and tried not to grimace.  "I think any smart assassin would use Briala as a distraction, nothing more.  Hers is a preexisting conflict in Orlais."  Leliana continued to look at him expectantly, so he kept going.  "Still, it cannot hurt to keep a closer eye on her, especially if we have the agents in place." 

            "Thank you, Commander," she said, leaning back now that she'd gotten what she wanted.  Cullen didn't know why she needed him to say it; she'd have her spies look into Briala whether or not he had any opinion at all. 

            A knock came at the door, and Dorian poked his head in.  "I'm here to take the Inquisitor to lunch," he announced, giving Talia a wink.  "You've had her holed up in here all morning, and we have so little time to get into trouble before the ball."   

            Talia dodged toward the door before anyone could stop her, scooping up a few cookies on the way.  She passed one to Dorian, effectively silencing him for a moment.  "I can always put it off, Josephine, it's only with our hosts," she said.  She gave the Ambassador an innocent smile that had Cullen smirking into his cup.  "I know we have work to do." 

            "You will do no such thing, Inquisitor.  We cannot risk insulting our hosts,"  Josephine said calmly, though her wide eyes gave away her concern. 

            "The plan is ready, Inquisitor," Leliana said, helping herself to a cookie.  "Go. I must brief my agents anyway." 

            "Please remember to dress them appropriately, Leliana," Josephine said before turning to Talia.  "Inquisitor, after you tour the grounds with Gaspard, meet me in your room?  We can dress and go over the night's plans before everything begins." 

            "Leave nothing to chance, I know," Talia said, rolling her eyes.  Josephine gave a huff, and Talia grinned at her.  "Don't worry so much, Josie.  Dorian will make sure I don't make a fool of myself in front of Gaspard.  And Cassandra won't mind sharpening my daggers for tonight."    

            Josephine looked horrified at the idea of Talia wearing her daggers to a ball, but she didn't say anything. 

            Cullen listened to this exchange with mild amusement.  Sometimes Josephine forgot that Talia had been raised nobility, even if she was a little out of practice before joining the Inquisition.  She'd handled the nobles at Therinfal just fine -- surely she could manage The Grand Game well enough. 

            "Cullen, would you like to join us?" Talia asked, turning her smile to him.  Behind her, Dorian made a rude gesture, and Cullen nearly choked. 

            As he tried to keep his tea down, Josephine intervened.  "The Commander has preparations to make before tonight."  She gave him a significant look, and his heart sank.  "Stay out of trouble," she called after them as Dorian made another gesture on the way out the door. 

            Once they were gone, Cullen turned to Josephine.  "I'm going to meet with my lieutenants, Josephine.  If you need me, I'll be in the training yard."  He set his teacup down and straightened his tunic.  He'd dressed casually for the morning, assuming he would need to spend time with his troops.    

            Josephine had gone back to making notes on her writing board.  "Commander, we must review the requirements for each evening leading up to your wedding." 

            Cullen froze.  "I'm sorry, what?" 

            "The balls.  There are specific expectations for each night, and performing them incorrectly can allow Orlais a way out of our alliance, should they want it."  She turned her gaze to him, and behind him, Cullen noticed that even Leliana had gone still.  "That cannot be allowed, Commander." 

            "Josephine, surely they understand that I am a military Commander, leading a military operation to prevent an assassination.  They cannot expect --"

            "The nobles know nothing of the sort.  They expect a wedding on the afternoon of the Grand Ball, and nights of festivities leading up to it."  She lifted her quill expectantly.  "We will not disappoint." 

            Leliana squeezed Cullen's shoulder as she left.  "Good luck, Commander.  I'll have Solas leave a bottle of whiskey in your room." 

\---

            Iron Bull was chatting up an elven servant when Cullen stormed past an hour later.  All this Orlesian ridiculousness was only getting worse - between parading himself around at one ball and standing in stoic silence at another, Cullen was certain he'd lose his mind long before his actual wedding.  Bull evidently read all this on the Commander's face, for he disengaged himself from the servant girl immediately. 

            "You okay, Cullen?" 

            Cullen glanced at him as if seeing him for the first time.  "Do you have some free time, Bull? I need to hit something that can hit back." 

            Bull grinned.  "Sounds like my kind of party, Commander."  

            The training yard stood nearly empty when they arrived, only a few soldiers and chevaliers chatting idly.  His men snapped to attention, the Orlesian soldiers hurrying off, and Cullen found his anger had an outlet.

            "You there! Where are your compatriots?  Have they abandoned their training and gone home?  Does the safety of Thedas mean nothing to you?"  Bull laid a hand on his arm before he could get too far, yanking Cullen around to face him. 

            "I gave them their posts, boss," he explained softly, his grip tight.  "Don't blame them."  Cullen searched Bull's face, seeing his own frustration matched under the calm façade. 

            "I… I see."  He turned back to his remaining troops.  "Forgive me, I didn't know.  You must be on duty tonight at the ball, then, to still be here." 

            The soldiers before him exchanged looked before one spoke up.  "Yes ser," she said meekly, avoiding his eyes. 

            "Go rest then, and get some food.  You'll need to see Sister Leliana about your clothing, and be on time please."  They saluted him before running off, Cullen returning the gesture half-heartedly.   He studied the empty yard around them for a long while before Bull spoke. 

            "Long morning, Commander?" 

            "Hm?"  Despite his invitation, he'd forgotten Bull was there.  "Oh, I'm sorry, Bull, I…"  He shrugged.  He owed him an apology for how he'd behaved to his men, but beyond that… he didn't know.  Everything was mixed up and confused in his head, his duties and requirements overwhelmed with a layer of anxiety he didn't know how to alleviate. 

            "You wanted to hit something, right?"  Bull grabbed a practice greatsword off the rack and brandished it at Cullen.  He stared at it for a moment, considering.  This had been his idea, but injuring himself seemed like one of those things Josephine wanted him to avoid -- one scar on his face was enough for the Grand Duchess, she'd said. 

            "Cullen.  You want to play or not?" Bull asked impatiently, and a smirk spread over the Commander's face. 

            Fuck the Grand Duchess, and fuck the Game.  He was a soldier at heart, nothing more and nothing less, and the Orlesians would have to deal with that eventually. 

            He drew his sword. 

            Iron Bull gave a low chuckle.  "No shield, Commander?" 

            "You really think I'll need one, Bull?"  He lunged, a smooth thrust toward the Bull's arm that he easily parried. 

            "Josephine would have my head if I hurt you, I bet."  His sword whistled through the air, and Cullen caught it on the hilt of his sword, pushing it away. 

            "Perhaps," he said, countering.  Their spar was picking up speed now, blades clashing toward the heat of a real fight, but Iron Bull was holding back.  "But a little blood isn't a real injury, right?" 

            That laugh again.  "You might be onto something."  He was still attacking rather lazily, and Cullen responded in kind.  He'd get the same relief eventually, even if his blood was back up at the thought of how upset Josephine would be if she could see them now. 

            And how thrilled the Inquisitor would be.  She often came out to watch when he sparred with his men, especially when Rylen was at Skyhold and Cullen had a true challenge on his hands.  He and Bull rarely sparred, each knowing the likely result, but Cullen wished now that she could be there to cheer him on. 

            He missed a parry in his daydream, and Bull had to adjust mid-swing to avoid slashing open his shoulder.  Maybe he did need a shield. 

            Cullen adjusted his footing and attacked again, this time throwing himself behind his thrusts.  Bull countered each with ease, that greatsword waiting in spaces before Cullen had moved, but he backed toward the edge of the yard with each of Cullen's advances.  He closed in, feeling confident about his chances, when Bull caught his blade on the hilt.  The qunari twisted his arm, wrenching Cullen's sword out of his hands before he reared back and punched him in the mouth. 

            Cullen stumbled backward.  Catching himself, he ran a hand over his jaw, feeling the knot already swelling there.  The inside of his lips stung, and he made a face, spitting a mouthful of blood into the dirt at Bull's feet. 

            The mercenary laughed. He scooped up Cullen's blade, tossing it back with a wink. 

            Cullen couldn't help his grin as he caught his sword. 

            "Come on, I'm getting bored!" Bull taunted, his sword dug into the earth at his side.  "Stop trying to hit me, and hit me!"

            Cullen tugged his tunic off and tossed it aside.  "If you'd stop babying me, I might," he threw back, adjusting his gloves for a better grip.  "As it is, I feel badly about beating you."  He raised his eyebrows at Bull, the scar on his mouth pulling as he smirked. 

            "Ooh, you want it, huh?" Bull chuckled, picking up his sword. 

            Cullen crouched, shifting his weight on the balls of his feet.  "Like you can't imagine." 

            "That's what I like to hear," Bull growled, just a little too much undercurrent for Cullen, but he didn't have time to ponder that.  The greatsword was whistling in circles over Bull's head, rapidly gaining speed just as the huge qunari lunged for him.

            This was what he wanted.  This was what he _needed_. 

            They fought for nearly an hour, trading blows and insults like the wind blew dandelion seeds, easy and carefree.  By the time Bull legitimately knocked Cullen on his ass, the Commander felt like a soldier again, and back in control. 

            "Again, tomorrow?" he asked, wiping sweat and not a little blood from his brow. 

            Bull grinned.  "Think you'll be up for it?"  He replaced his sword on the rack and tossed Cullen his tunic.  With a grimace, Cullen pulled it over his head.  Sweat soaked it through, making it cling uncomfortably, but he had to bathe before the ball anyway.  Better he'd earned the dirt than wash off merely to be presentable. 

            The thought brought him down a little from his endorphin high, and he shot Iron Bull a look.  "I'm marrying a stranger in three days' time, Bull.  What do you think?" 

            "I think I'll be here tomorrow.  Til then, Commander."  The qunari strolled off, whistling cheerfully and giving a saucy wink to one of the servant girls walking by.  When she smacked his arm, her shout of "cheeky fucker!" echoing across the yard, Cullen couldn't help his laugh.  Of course Bull would flirt with Sera by accident. 

             He ran a gloved hand over his face, cringing when he bumped the knot on his jaw.  It would show under his mask, he knew, but it was hard to care.  His earlier frustration was gone, though he knew it would be back.  Surely Josephine and Leliana had some monstrosity awaiting him tonight to ruin his hard-earned good mood. 

            The smell of something roasting floated through the training yard, and his stomach rumbled.  A bath, and something to eat both featured heavily in his desires now, and if he hurried, he could rest before he had to get dressed.  He hadn't slept well last night after the incident with the masks, and he didn't anticipate that being any easier tonight.  Some sleep would do him good. 

            He replaced his sword in its sheath as he headed for his room.  Perhaps he could find Talia, even for a moment -- that too would do him some good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spot the Matrix reference! :)


	4. Chapter 4

            Someone knocked on his door fifteen minutes before Josephine had said they needed to leave, and Cullen groaned.  Who else could possibly need to see him at this hour?  Josephine had already been by to see that his jacket and pants were pressed and neat, and Solas had surreptitiously dropped off that bottle of whiskey Leliana had promised.  Cullen sipped at it now, wondering if the person at the door would go away. 

            The knock came again.  No luck, then. 

            He yanked the door open, growling "I don't need anything else" as he did, but his words died on his lips at the sight of the Inquisitor. 

            She was staring off down the hall, the long graceful line of her neck exposed by the design of her dress for the evening.  It was a mirror of her dress the previous night, all navy blue and gold accents that hugged her form.  Its long sleeves stopped at her shoulders, drawing a dazzling line across her collarbones.  The skirt belled out, long slits showing the deep crimson that matched his jacket and the sash that looped around her waist.  Then she turned and smiled at him, her kohl-lined eyes twinkling, and he just barely managed not to pull her into his arms right there. 

            "Hey, let me in, quick," she said, glancing down the hall the other way.  "If anyone sees me, Josie will kill me."  Cullen didn't know how to respond to that.  Women weren't supposed to be in men's rooms and vice versa for propriety's sake, but it didn't change how glad he was to see her.  With a nod, he opened the door for her, trying not to inhale her perfume as she brushed past.  Once inside, she went straight to his bed, laying down a package he hadn't noticed. 

            "I wanted to bring you your mask before anyone else could," Talia explained.  Quickly she untied the ribbons and unfolded several layers of fabric.  Cullen tried to watch, but his heart was suddenly racing; he'd forgotten about the masks, the glittering hidden secrets the evening held.  He'd slept some that afternoon, and thankfully it had been undisturbed, but that didn't mean the ball would go well. 

            "I appreciate it, I think, Inquisitor," he said, and she threw him a glance at the hesitation in his voice. 

            "Will you be all right, Cullen?  With the masks and all tonight?"  Her hands stilled on a layer of tissue paper, her eyes clouded. 

            Cullen moved away under the pretense of freshening his drink, but really he didn't want her to see his face.  He knew there were still shadows under his eyes, probably worse since this morning, and sweat on his forehead. 

            Suddenly he was glad for the mask, if only to hide from her. 

            "I… think so, Inquisitor."  He poured, his hand shaking a little.  Just the thought of what the evening held was apparently enough to unnerve him, and that didn't bode well.  "I’m not honestly sure." 

            He glanced over to see Talia nod.  "I'll try to keep track of you.  What sacred Orlesian ritual will you be performing tonight?"  She gave him a sly smirk over her shoulder. 

            A dry laugh barked out of him.  "Tonight I'm to dance with as many nobles as I possibly can, so I can show myself off." 

            She gave him a disbelieving look.  "Like a dog at a dog show?" 

            "Quite appropriate for a Fereldan in the Orlesian court, don't you think?"  This made her laugh more than Cullen would have expected, and he smirked despite a heavy heart.  He loved to make her laugh, and since he wasn't particularly witty, he treasured it when he could. 

            "Then I hope I'm not out of line when I tell you I stole your mask for tonight and had it replaced."  She'd finished unwrapping it and walked over to him now, the mask held carefully in her hands.  It was gold but plain, not an Orlesian style at all.  Instead of engravings or filigree, it had simply cut holes for his eyes and a slight bump for his nose, and nothing else.  The blue velvet ribbon tied to its slightly flared edges were its only embellishments. 

            Cullen put down his whiskey to accept it, holding it delicately in his gloved fingers.  Of anything he could have chosen for tonight, this would have been it.  This was perfect. 

            He met her eyes to find her smiling shyly.  "I know you… don't like the mask thing here," she explained.  "And Josie had ordered some monstrosity for you that tried to look like a mabari… at least I think.  It was some kind of animal, and honestly it was really ugly.  So I changed it."  She was nearly rambling now, but Cullen didn't mind.  His chest was too tight for him to say anything in response anyway.  "It would have been awful, not like you at all, and I didn't want you to be so uncomfortable, not with the arrangement and all, and I… I…" 

            He'd stepped closer without realizing, or she had.  They were almost chest to chest now, the mask the only thing truly separating them.  Talia reached up as she trailed off, her fingertips brushing along his jaw, pulling him down to her when Cullen winced, withdrawing at the sharp pain in his face.  The mask fell, bouncing away under his bed as he grabbed his cheek. 

            "Maker, Cullen, what happened?" Talia asked as he jerked away.  

            "Nothing, Inquisitor," he muttered, trying not to grit his teeth.  He'd forgotten about it in the hours since his spar with Iron Bull.  "Just a little bruise." 

            "Cullen," she said sternly, prying his fingers away.  The knot came into view, its bruising just another shadow in the low light of the room.  Josephine had missed it earlier, thank the Maker, but Talia was far more astute.  "Maker, are you okay?"  She ran her fingertips along it, feeling for a crack in his jaw. 

            "I'm fine.  Iron Bull just punched me." 

            "What? Why?"  Satisfied it wasn't broken, Talia stepped back and glanced around his room. 

            "What're you looking for?"  He asked. 

            She shot him a look.  "The bell rope."  Giving it a tug, she came back to stand in front of him.  "Now stop deflecting and answer my question." 

            Cullen blushed, moving the hand that had been rubbing his jaw to the back of his neck.  "We were sparring.  I… was trying to burn off some stress, and…" 

            "Bull weren't satisfied, were he?"  Sera popped into the room, the door clicking shut behind her.  "I saw him later.  He said ol' Cully-Wully was having a bad time of it."  She handed the bucket of ice she carried off to Talia, and the Inquisitor stole Cullen's pocket square without hesitation. 

            "That's… about the long and short of it, Inquisitor," Cullen finished for her.  Sera shot him a wink, and he couldn't help but roll his eyes at the elf. 

            "Well," Talia said, turning back to him with a handful of ice wrapped in his handkerchief.  "You'll need to cover it for tonight.  Sera, can you go by my room and grab my make-up?" 

            The elf skipped toward the door, an odd mix with her demure servants uniform.  "You want the lipstick an' the sparkly eye shadow too, my lady?"  Talia tossed an ice cube at her, and she vanished, giggling all the while. 

            "Come here," she told Cullen, gesturing for him to sit down on the edge of the bed.  He obliged, and she stood to one side, pressing the ice to his jaw with careful pressure.  "It won't do much now -- you should have iced it when it happened, you know."

            "I know," he grumbled, his words garbled by the poultice.  He took the icepack from her, keeping it held to his mouth. 

            "But it should make the swelling a little less noticeable."  She scooted down the bed a little and unwrapped her own mask.  Carefully she lifted it out of the tissue paper and studied it where it lay in her gloved palms. 

            For a moment, she seemed to drift very far away, and Cullen watched from a distance, wondering how, or if, he could help.  There were moments when she flirted with him, moments when he was sure she wanted him to kiss her, and then there were the unmistakable moments of his best friend making sure he was okay.  Those were the moments that confused him -- were they the actions of just a friend, or something more? 

            He'd seen her take care of the others just as she cared for him.  The trip to Valance with Leliana, standing up to Dorian's father, helping Varric settle things with Bianca, the expedition to Caer Oswin with Cassandra:  She cared for them all without a thought for herself.  What if those moments of flirting with him _were_ what she wanted for herself? 

            But it seemed selfish to think of.  She'd asked, and he'd said no.  Surely now she belonged with someone else, someone better, who could take care of her and wanted to above all else. 

            Even if that was what he wanted, too. 

            "Can you help me with my mask?"  She said suddenly, so softly Cullen didn't hear her at first.  But she turned, and he reached for her, pulling her down beside him. 

            "Not yet, no," he replied, his voice just as soft.  "No masks yet.  Just… sit with me, and stay.  Please." 

            She stared at him for a moment, those emerald eyes suddenly swimming with unspent tears, before she nodded.  "All right."  She leaned against him, and he tucked his arm around her, his hand on her waist.  He felt the boning in her corset, the warmth of her body seeping through the fabric, and when she rested her head on his shoulder, he leaned down and kissed the top of her head. 

            "You'll be safe tonight?"  he asked eventually, when he couldn't think of anything else to say.  Friends.  They were friends, and friends took care of each other. 

            She nodded, probably messing up her hair against the wide golden epaulettes of his uniform.  "Well," she added with a laugh.  "I'll try." 

            "That's all I ask."  He squeezed her against him briefly and felt more than heard her sigh. 

            "Cullen, I --" 

            "Hand check!" Sera announced as she bounced back into the room.  Talia sat up swiftly, turning to wipe her eyes where the elf couldn't see.  "You lot all right?" 

            Talia grabbed for the make-up.  "Of course.  You want to help?" 

            She giggled.  "Course! The Commander would look quite smart in some rouge, yeah?" 

            "Andraste preserve me," Cullen muttered, turning his eyes heavenward. 

            "Don't you worry, Cully," Sera said, already headed for the door.  "Josephine's in the hall, and I hafta go help." 

            "Stall her for me," Talia called.  "I need a minute to take care of the Commander." 

            "Bet you do," Sera said, sticking her tongue out at Cullen.  "Luck tonight!" 

            Talia was smiling again when she removed her gloves and dug through the make-up bag Sera had brought, and Cullen couldn't ask for anything more than that.  As her behest, he sat in a chair in front of the mirror, chin lifted so she could see the bruise and all its accompanying swelling.  She muttered and fussed as she worked, applying this and that with sponges and gentle fingertips until she pronounced him suitable for the ball. 

            He surveyed himself in the mirror, adjusting the angle so he could see where the bruise had been.  It had vanished entirely under Talia's ministrations. 

            "I… can't even see it, and I know it's there," he told her, surprised.  "Thank you." 

            "Of course."  She wiped her hands on a cloth before surveying herself in the mirror behind him.  "I don't look mussed, do I?" 

            With her obvious permission, Cullen allowed his eyes to sweep over her.  Her dress was smooth and perfect, her hair only a little frayed where she'd rested her head on him.  His gaze lingered on her collarbones, the heavy Inquisition pendant that rested on her chest, before he met her eyes.  "You look lovely, Inquisitor." 

            A twinkle blossomed in her eyes.  "Are you supposed to tell a lady that here in Orlais, Commander?"  Cassandra must have told her how he got in trouble, then. 

            "Only when you remember I'm Fereldan, my lady," he teased back with a smile.  She pulled on her gloves, straightening the sparkling lace over her fingers, and retrieved her mask. 

            When she came back, she extended it toward him, wiggling it enticingly.  "Will you help me put it on now?"  Her voice was lighter than her slightly shaking hands would have him believe. 

            "Of course, Inquisitor."  She turned, her hands up before her face to accept it, but Cullen hesitated.  He studied it as it lay in his hands, its shining black filigree and carefully inlaid stones catching the light.  Each emerald, tiny though they were, sparkled to match her eyes, and he knew Josephine had chosen well. 

            "Cullen?" She prompted, and he moved, passing it to her as though it were on fire.  Carefully she fitted it to her face, settling the lace-like edges along her cheekbones, and Cullen caught the black ribbon when she passed it to him, tying it just tight enough. 

            Talia checked it in the mirror, making tiny adjustments until she was happy.  "Your turn."  Tearing his eyes from her, he went to get his -- but he couldn't find it. 

            "Um…"  The paper and wrappings it had come in lay on the bed, but the mask was nowhere to be found.  "I um.  It's gone." 

            Talia snorted.  "You know you won't get out of the ball so easily." 

            "No, really," he said, chuckling as he thought of how ridiculous this was.  The mask might be the Orlesian custom, but Josephine would find a way to explain his bare face should it come to that.  "I don't know where it is." 

            "Well, look for it."  She searched all the tables and surfaces of the room quickly while Cullen picked up cushions and pillows. 

            "It can't have walked off," he muttered just as Talia exclaimed, "Hey, I see it!"  She directed him to the mask, its blue ribbon giving away its position under his bed.           

            "Blast.  How did it get there?"  He bent to retrieve it, trying to avoid crawling around on the floor in his evening clothes.  The answer to his question rushed back as he grabbed it: He'd dropped it in the split second between thinking Talia was going to kiss him and the bloom of pain as she grabbed his jaw. 

            Blushing, he stood and passed it to Talia.  She gestured for him to sit again, and she passed it back so he could fit it over his nose and eyes.  "Thank you," he murmured, fiddling with it until it was marginally comfortable. 

            "You're welcome."  She tied the ribbon quickly, smoothing his hair when she was done, and rested her hands on his shoulders.  In the mirror, she caught his eye.  "Cullen… If you need any help tonight, or if things are too much, come find me, okay?"  She reached up hesitantly and touched her mask.  "You can still see most of my face, so you'll know it's me.  I don't know if that will help, but…" 

            He reached up to squeeze her hand.  "It does.  Knowing your real face makes a huge difference."  They stared at each other through the mirror for a moment until Cullen couldn't hold her gaze any longer and looked away.  "Thank you, Inquisitor.  Talia." 

            "Of course," she replied, moving her hands to brush her fingers over his mask once last time.  She opened her mouth to speak and hesitated before blurting out, "I have to tell you something." 

            The carefully blank expression on her face bothered him, and he reached for her hand again.  "Anything," he told her quietly, and she dropped her gaze. 

            "After the Winter Palace… after the peace talks, that is, I have to go back to the Free Marches." 

            Dread gripped his heart with icy fingers.  "Why?" 

            "Well, the alliance here is almost solidified, and Alistair's wife won't let him make a mess of things with the Inquisition, so we don’t have anything to worry about from Ferelden…" 

            Someone knocked on the door before she could finish.  "Commander?  Are you ready?"  Josephine's voice cut through the uncertainty between them, and Talia moved to answer it. 

            Cullen stopped her.  "What does that mean?"  He asked, but Josephine knocked again before Talia could answer. 

            "Commander! We're going to be late, and I still need to find the Inquisitor."  Once again, he and the Inquisitor exchanged looks through the mirror.

            "I'll tell you later," Talia promised, practically sprinting to the door.  She threw it open.  "I'm here, Josie.  I was just giving the Commander his mask.  And don't worry, he tied mine so we're both ready." 

            "Thank the Maker," the Ambassador said, giving Talia a once over.  She tucked a lock of hair back into place and gave her a brilliant smile.  "You look lovely." 

            Talia gave Cullen a smirk at Josephine's compliment, and he couldn't help smiling back. 

            "And you look very handsome, Commander," the diplomat continued, gesturing for Cullen to join them.  He rose, touching his mask self-consciously as he moved.  It felt warmer than he expected on his skin, but perhaps that was just the lingering heat of Talia's hands. 

            "Thank you, Josephine, as do you.  Look nice, I mean." 

            She pursed her lips.  "Remember not to say such things when you dance with the nobility tonight, Commander.  Euphemisms and such only." 

            Cullen bowed to her, careful to tuck his hands to his sides like a proper Orlesian duke and not the son of a Fereldan farmer.  "I remember, Lady Ambassador." 

            Patting his shoulder, Josephine smiled absently.  "That's not the mask I ordered you.  Did something happen?" 

            "I ordered the Commander one that would fit him better than that Orlesian monstrosity," Talia explained.  She turned to Cullen, her hands clasped demurely in front of her.  "Don't you agree, Commander?" 

            He did not trust himself to speak on the topic of Orlesian monstrosities or masks, so he merely nodded.  Thankfully Josephine looked satisfied with the Inquisitor's answer, for she hustled them out into the courtyard to their waiting carriages. 

            "I must warn you before you go inside," she said as they climbed in, settling next to Cassandra.  "How you speak to the Court is a matter of life and death.  It is no simple matter of etiquette and protocol.  Every word, every gesture, is measured and evaluated for weakness." 

            "Don't they sound like a fun bunch," Talia muttered, and Cullen caught the smile Cassandra gave her. 

            Josephine did not look amused.  "When you meet the Empress, the eyes of the entire Court will be upon you.  You were safer in the Fade with the Fear Demon." 

            "I doubt that," Cassandra muttered, crossing her arms.  Cullen did too, though he was not foolish enough to anger Josephine. 

              "Everything will be fine.  Just don't do anything… stupid."   The Ambassador looked like she wanted to say more, but restrained herself with a sigh. "Andraste watch over us all." 

            A moment later, the carriage started moving, and they were off to the Winter Palace. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter works best if you listen to the Orlesian theme in the background until you want to strangle someone. :)

            The Winter Palace sparkled around the advisers of the Inquisition as they waited to be introduced to the court.   The ball itself had started over an hour ago, elegant music floating through the perfumed air along with conversations and laughter all overshadowed with chandeliers and long banners done up in the blue and gold of the Empire.  Glittering dresses complete with feathers and masks had Leliana cooing over shoes as Josephine stood nearby wringing her hands that the Inquisitor might make some kind of semi-fatal mistake now that she had gone off with the Grand Duke. 

            On the steps beside them, Cullen tried not to fidget.  His position this evening was as he'd explained it to the Inquisitor: He was to dance with as many Orlesian nobles as would have him, showing off his courtly skills to anyone who might be watching -- which was everyone, according to Josephine. 

            He wasn't looking forward to it.  Vivienne had taught him to dance, and Dorian had helped him practice enough that he felt reasonably confident, but that wasn't it.  It was the eyes -- eyes that would watch him, study him, pass judgments he would never know, tittering behind fans and masks and hidden intentions he wanted nothing to do with.  Anxiety fluttered in his chest, making him jittery. 

            It was the Game itself that unsettled him so, yet there was nothing he could do about that.  The Game was to be his life now, and what better way to get used to it. 

            "Trial by fire, it seems," he muttered under his breath.  Leliana gave him a sudden sharp look, and he smiled back, avoiding her eyes.  _Nothing amiss here, Spymaster, don't you fret._   She went back to ogling shoes, her lips framing words about pearls and golden fabric, but he knew she still watched him. 

            On her other side, Josephine was struggling to look for the Inquisitor without actually moving her head.  "We are to be introduced any moment," she muttered.  Her bouncing foot gave her away, should anyone be watching.  "Where are they?"  The Inquisitor was to be escorted in on Gaspard's arm any moment as part of the honors due Empress Celene -- even if the Duke himself seemed more interested in scandalizing the court than paying any true homage. 

            "Be calm, Josie," Leliana murmured, her face smooth and unworried.   She didn't move, didn't make any gesture like she knew, but the Inquisitor appeared moments later at the top of the stairs leading down to the ballroom floor.  Her dress was still impeccable, her hair and mask perfect, and of all things, she was smiling.  Laughing, even, Cullen noted as he stared up at her.   

            Gaspard was announced first, as befitting his station, and he walked the length of the ballroom with his head held high despite the gasps Cullen could hear from the spectators above them.  Talia's various titles followed, and she swept onto the floor with a rustle of her skirts, giving a Cullen a fast wink from under her mask as she passed. 

            Her companions followed.  A long string of names that would have made Cullen chuckle under different circumstances titled Cassandra, fourteenth cousin of the King of Nevarra, and the Seeker groused for the herald to get on with it as she marched across the ballroom.  Solas was apparently the Inquisitor's serving man for the evening, though Cullen hadn't known he was attending.  The Iron Bull drew stares and at least one fluttered handkerchief as he strode the length of the floor, though Dorian inspired more whispers as the son of a Tevinter Magister. 

            Then the herald was reading off his name, and though he cringed at the revelation of his middle name, Cullen Stanton Rutherford started across the ballroom floor.  He tried to walk slowly as Josephine had instructed, giving everyone who wanted a look at the Grand Duchess's intended a chance to see him, but the announcement that he was the former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall sent a tingle of icy dread down his spine.  His steps quickened until he was safely on the other side, no longer vulnerable and on display. 

            He had never been the Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, not officially.  The role was not his to claim, nor was it one he wanted; after Meredith fell, he held Kirkwall together by the grace of the Maker and the hard work of dozens, perhaps hundreds, of people far more crucial than he.  Cullen's role had been that of coordinator and peacekeeper, not Commander. 

            That was the role he lived now, the role Cassandra had offered him as a way out of the hellhole that his life had become, and he had been glad to take it. 

            Now apparently Orlais wanted to force him back into it. 

            Lost in his past, Cullen didn't hear much of the exchange between the Inquisitor and the Empress.  He did, however, note that Gaspard made a noise much like Cassandra and stormed off, and he followed the Grand Duke with his eyes until a hand on his shoulder startled him. 

            "You're up, Commander," Josephine said cheerfully.  She gestured toward the ballroom floor, where the Inquisitor stood with her hand extended toward him.  The crisp notes of the Orlesian ball floated up the steps, joined gradually by the thrumming undertones that gave the song its heady feel. 

            "I'm sorry, what?"  He tried to seem like he'd been paying attention, though between Gaspard stalking off and the influx of music, he felt a little untethered.  

            The Ambassador squeezed his shoulder.  "You must open the dancing with the Inquisitor," she said, smiling out at the waiting nobles.  Cullen glanced at her and caught the trembling at the corner of her mouth.  She looked quite as uncomfortable with the idea as he, and somehow that reassured him.  He squared his shoulders, suddenly feeling more the Commander again now that he had a situation to brave. 

            "Yes, thank you, Josephine, I'd quite forgotten," he offered, patting her hand with his own as he stepped away.  He hadn't forgotten, he'd had no bloody idea he was to dance with Talia, but it wouldn't do to focus on that now.  Instead he bowed low to the Inquisitor, pleased to see her smile go from plastered and fake to genuine as he did. 

            "Inquisitor," he murmured to her skirts, offering his hand with all the poise he could muster. 

            "Commander," she breathed back, placing her hand in his with the practiced grace of true nobility.  He led her out onto the dance floor just as a layer of flirtatious pipes joined the chorus of the song and gave her a tentative smile. 

            "Are you quite prepared for this?" He asked out of the corner of his mouth as they took their places in the center of the ballroom. 

            Talia put her hand on his shoulder as she turned to face him.  "Always, Commander.  Are you?" 

            He slid his hand around her waist, resisting the urge to yank her close and hear her surprised laughter.  "I think I'll surprise you, Inquisitor."   He recognized the cadence of the song and moved effortlessly, leading her into the dance without a second thought.  It might have worried him, the ridiculous notion of a Templar at a ball.   But any missteps on his part were concealed by the swirl of her skirts as they moved, and the fear he'd anticipated dissolved as he let the instincts Dorian had taught him take over.  It helped, feeling her hand in his, as they were swept up into the music.  The whole court was watching, and the steps came easily enough, but nothing grounded him against his demons like having her in his arms. 

            "Cullen," she whispered, and he realized he'd been staring as they danced, his eyes trained on hers through their masks. 

            "Apologies, I…"  He looked away only for his eyes to wander back to hers.  "You were going to tell me something earlier tonight," he said when he trusted himself to speak. 

            It was Talia's turn to look away, and she instead stared at something over his shoulder, her gaze unfocused.  "It's… nothing that won't keep," she said eventually. 

            Cullen spun her out gracefully, using her momentum to bring her back to him just as he'd been taught.  He couldn't remember the move's significance, but other dancers stepped onto the floor as she stepped opposite him, their hands extended.  "Please tell me," he said softly, losing the formal edge he'd been trying to keep. 

            "I can't," she insisted as the dance brought them back into close contact.  There were eyes everywhere now, not just on them, and he could see Talia's smile break for just a moment. 

            "No one can hear us," he encouraged softly. 

            "But they can see you watching me," she breathed, so softly he barely heard her over the swelling finale of the dance.  "And they will ask questions.  Please, Cullen." 

            "And…"  he hesitated, wondering what was bothering her.  She didn't want to talk about it, which meant it was likely serious, and the last thing he wanted was to push her away.  "And if I should tickle it out of you?"  He raised one eyebrow at her in jest, though he wasn't sure if it transferred from behind the mask. 

            Thankfully she smiled.  "Then all the court shall know my weakness, Commander," she said as they drifted to a halt.  Scattered applause echoed around them as she dropped her hands, and Cullen caught them in his, wishing he could pull her to him. 

            "We can't have that, Inquisitor," he replied, feeling his breath hitch as she stepped closer. 

            "Indeed we cannot," came a lilting accent, and Talia sprang away from him. 

            "Your Grace," she recovered quickly, bowing low to the Grand Duchess.  She'd stepped up behind Cullen without him realizing, her proximity failing to set off any warning bells in his mind, and he stepped away, aligning himself unconsciously with Talia. 

            Cullen bowed as well.  "Duchess Florianne, you honor me," he managed, remembering the courtly manners Josephine had drilled into him. 

            She surveyed them from behind the same half-mask she'd been wearing the day before.  "I wondered if I might request a dance," she said, her expression carefully blank. 

            That gave him pause.  "Your Grace, I don't believe we're supposed to dance until the third night," he said, though he started to offer his hand anyway. 

            Talia's hand on his arm stopped him.  "She means with me, Commander," the Inquisitor said.  She turned back to Florianne.  "And I'd be happy to oblige." 

            "Good."  The Grand Duchess turned her back, expecting Talia to follow without another word.  She gave Cullen a helpless look. 

            "Good luck tonight," she said softly.  Her hand slid down his arm to squeeze his hand quickly.  "And remember, you know my face if you need me."  She was gone before Cullen would answer, the leather of his glove still warm from her touch.

\---

            The evening passed.  Cullen danced with far too many people, men and women alike, and turned down far more requests than he'd anticipated receiving.  His stamina wasn't what it once was since giving up lyrium, and though he could have managed more, he played off like he was near exhausted.  Josephine would cut him a little slack, surely, especially considering how many times he'd had his arse pinched over the course of the night. 

            He stood off to one side now, his back pressed safely against a wall, and sipped the whiskey a servant had pressed into his hands.  It had been Solas, or so he thought, but it was hard to tell under a perfectly ridiculous hat. 

            Instead of worrying, he scanned the room for the Inquisitor.  He'd lost track of her more times than he could count this evening; every time he looked up, she was dancing with someone new, or he'd see Dorian or Bull following her out onto a balcony, or some other such adventure she was up to while he was trapped here.   Now she lingered on the far end of the room just inside the door, her gloved hand on her chin as she studied the painting high on the wall above her. 

            Cullen watched her for a moment.  He couldn't see if she was smiling from this distance, nor could he see the lights that danced in her eyes when she did.  In fact, it almost looked like she was bored, and he glanced at the people around her for clues. 

            Ah.  The Dowager Countess.  The older woman had been bragging about her various husbands and their untimely ends each time Cullen walked by, and likely now Talia was eavesdropping over some whispered Council of Heralds secret. 

            Or perhaps she was just deeply engrossed in the painting. 

            "Bored, Commander?"  Cassandra sidled up to him, plucking his glass from his hands and neatly draining it. 

            "Never, Cassandra, and might I say, you're welcome?"  Cullen replied.  He retrieved his empty drink and deposited it on the end table nearby.  A servant swept by, nearly invisible, and collected it.   

            Cassandra gave him a sideways look.  "Don't be upset with me, Cullen," she grumbled.  "The Inquisitor is the one you have to blame." 

            "For you drinking my whiskey? I hardly think so."  Another glass, fuller this time, appeared beside him.  He accepted, turning to say thank you to the servant, but they were already gone.  Cullen started to drink and hesitated when he saw Cassandra eyeing it.  "Would you like some?"  He was unable to keep the irritation out of his voice. 

            She took it before the question was out of his mouth.  "I thought you would never ask."  The Seeker didn't drain it this time, but it was damn close.  Cullen accepted it back with pursed lips, and Cassandra grunted.  "What?  I'm helping you stay sober." 

            He sipped at what was left.  "So long as you stay close to it as well.  If you start grabbing my bottom, I'm leaving, and I don't care what Josephine says."  She made a disgusted noise and crossed her arms, aiming her dark expression at the courtiers around them. 

            They stood in companionable silence, passing the drink back and forth until it was done, and only then did Cassandra speak.  "I saw the Inquisitor dancing with someone from Starkhaven earlier tonight.  I do not know who with all this masked nonsense, but I recognized the tartan." 

            Cullen kept his gaze focused straight ahead.  "And why should she not?"  He felt Cassandra's eyes take his measure before she sighed. 

            "It would take a blind fool not to see how she cares about you."  The Seeker paused.  "Or how you care about her." 

            He took a sip as he tried to think of what to say only to remember the glass was empty.  "Then I am a fool as well," he admitted finally, thinking of how he only recognized his own feelings a few weeks ago.  If ever there was a fool in the Inquisition, it was him.    

            Cassandra snorted.  "So is our diplomat, it would seem." 

            "I… will make no comment on that," Cullen replied.  "So. Starkhaven?" 

            They discussed the various merits and detriments of the Free March state for a while, and for once in this long evening, Cullen wasn't bothered.  Cassandra's presence seemed to deter even the most stubborn of his admirers, though one noble did offer a fluttering wave from behind a fan.  Cullen tried not to grimace; the point of the evening was to show himself off to the nobles who knew he was arranged to marry the Grand Duchess. 

            "Why must they flirt so?"  He grumbled, rolling the empty glass in his hand.  Cassandra just laughed. 

            "It is their nature to be frivolous," she told him.  They were silent again for a moment, Cullen watching as Dorian swept the Inquisitor across the dance floor, lifting her with flourish whenever the music called for it.  She looked happy under her mask, and his heart lifted with her. 

            "Will you be all right here, Cullen?"  Cassandra asked.  Cullen glanced at her to find that she too was studying the Inquisitor.  Dorian was performing the strange walk-about dance that Cullen had, his arm extended so his pinkie could brush her waist before she spun back into him, and the Commander tried not to be jealous. 

            "I… don't know," he admitted, tearing his eyes away from the couple.  It was good to see that amidst all this, Talia could have a moment to enjoy herself.  "But I hope so.  Someday, at least." 

            "I admit, I worry about you," she told him, still watching the ballroom instead of speaking to his face.  "Alliances are a necessity of war, but they should not be conducted using unwilling soldiers." 

            He chuckled dryly.  "I am hardly unwilling, Cassandra.  Josephine asked, and I answered."   Despite the truth of his words, he could practically feel the Seeker roll her eyes. 

            "You did not have to answer as you did." 

            The Commander considered this.  Certainly he could have said no.  Josephine and Leliana hadn't coerced him into saying yes, merely laid out all the reasons why agreeing was the best course of action for the Inquisition.    It might have been different, had he been looking into the troubled eyes of the Inquisitor and agreeing to marry a stranger.  But perhaps that would have been further motivation, to know that it was what she wanted, what she thought best.  As it stood, he had agreed out of a sense of duty, just as he did so many other things.  He owed his life, his service, to the Inquisition, and what it needed, he would do. 

            He sighed.  "I had no reason not to.  My lyrium withdrawal is under control, and I serve the Inquisition in all things." 

            "Talia said much the same thing when Josephine asked her," Cassandra mused, her arms crossed.  Something about that didn't sit right with Cullen.  Josephine hadn't asked the Inquisitor for her opinion about his arrangement, and in fact Dorian had been the one to tell her at Cullen's request.  The mage had said she had been quite upset, shouting about Josie's failure to ask her permission and citing her role as their leader imperative in making the alliance with Orlais.   Surely she hadn't been so angry to the diplomat's face, but to respond with total indifference?  Talia was never indifferent about anything -- and if she were about him, perhaps he'd misread everything. 

            He had to know.  "Asked her about what? My engagement?" 

            "Of course not, about --"  She stopped herself at Cullen's expression.  "Oh Maker.  She hasn't told you yet." 

            "Told me what?"  When Cassandra didn't answer, Cullen grabbed her elbow and tugged until she turned to face him.  "Cassandra.  Told me what?" 

            The Seeker clenched her jaw for a moment before she sighed.  "She's intending to marry the  Prince of Starkhaven." 

            Cullen's mouth fell open.  "Vael?  That pompous prick?"

            "Yes.  It hadn't been announced yet, but I assume that's who she was dancing with, or a representative, which is why I brought it up.  I… had no idea she would not tell you." 

            Cullen couldn't breathe, his eyes flying back and forth in front of him in search of something, anything, he could find to ground him.  When he couldn't, he clenched them shut, feeling Cassandra's hand on his shoulder to steady him.  That must have been what she tried to tell him.  He wobbled for a moment, more emotion than instability, and tried to get his breathing under control.   _This can't be happening._  

            His thoughts raced, trying to put the pieces of the last few days and weeks back together.  She'd flirted with him, tried to kiss him even, maybe, if it wasn't just his desperate imagination, and all the while she was about to leave, forge an alliance for the Inquisition elsewhere.  Had he forced her into it, when he said yes to the Orlesian proposal?  Had she said yes first and then suggested Josephine find him someone as well?  Perhaps she carried no feelings toward him beyond friendship anymore, and all her flirtations had just been creations of his addled mind, wishing she could be his and thus blind to what was really happening.  

            Finally, he managed a deep breath.  "Then…"  Then what?  Then he'd miscalculated.  Then he'd asked too much of her simply by being her friend, by being close to her, and he must stop.  Then… all his trepidation over his own arranged marriage was for naught.  "Then I am doing the right thing by securing the alliance here." 

            Cassandra sighed deeply, her hopeful expression crumbling.  "You are sure?" 

            Cullen straightened, pulling himself from Cassandra's grasp and resettling into the Commander's poise he'd donned to protect himself this night.  "Yes.  As I thought when I agreed, I have no one special in my life to think of." 

            The Seeker grabbed his arm, forcing him to meet her gaze.  "Don't you, Commander?"  She asked, her voice insistent.  Those dark eyes searched his, and Cullen pulled away, unsure of what she'd see.   

            "I do not, Seeker.  I wish the Inquisitor luck in her future, as I hope to find in mine." His chest ached, and Cullen found himself wishing for a giggling Orlesian idiot to whisk him far away from this conversation.  Back to the life he would have, so he could forget Talia Trevelyan. 

            Cassandra, as was her nature, would not be deterred.  "I don't believe you." 

            Cullen spun before he could stop himself, crowding Cassandra against the wall where they'd been standing.  "I have nothing, Cassandra," he spat, looming over her.  "Do you understand me?  Nothing.  I had my chance, and it is gone now.   You forcing it out of me won't change anything, so why won't you leave me alone?" 

            The Seeker's face stayed carefully blank as he yelled.  "You sound like the Inquisitor," she accused coldly when he was finished. 

            "I am committed to the Inquisition's cause above all else," he growled, his jaw clenched.  The bruise throbbed under its camouflage, and he welcomed the pain.  Anything to keep him angry.  Anger had driven him for so many years; he could make do with it again, if he couldn't have anything else. 

            "As is she.  And it was not a compliment."  Cassandra shoved him away and stormed off.  Cullen stared after her, watching her brush nobles off like flies.  His hand hurt, and he realized he'd been squeezing their shared whiskey glass in his fist.  It had cracked. 

            He set it down, wishing desperately he was in his tower back home so he could throw it against the stone and feel some slight satisfaction at its destruction.  He wanted nothing more than to be home, in Skyhold, to go back to that day on the battlements months before and change his fate. 

            But it was not to be.  When he turned back to the ball, he found a noble he hadn't noticed waiting, a woman in a puffy, feathered hat and a silver mask.  She offered him her hand as she tittered behind a fan, and he sighed quietly.   He had a duty to fulfill tonight, and even the Seeker would not make him fail it. 


	6. Chapter 6

Cullen passed himself from noble to noble as the evening carried on.  He tried not to think about the fight with Cassandra.  They hadn't argued since they approached the Templars for help to fight the Breach, and though that had been hard-won and bitter, it hadn't been personal.  A sick feeling ate away at the pit of his stomach now. 

            The steps to the dances came instinctually, and Cullen had never been so thankful to Vivienne for drilling them into him.  He didn't have to smile, he didn't have to think, and he certainly didn't have to enjoy himself.  This was his duty, and like all else in his life, he would do it without complaint. 

            The music wound down as his current partner chattered away about fans and hats.  He bowed shortly, and she curtsied back, looking disappointed that he didn't want to continue dancing with her.  He couldn't have cared less.  Like all the others, she would be quickly replaced by another noble eager to get a moment with the Duchess's soon-to-be husband.  _Best not to dwell on how disgusting that is, Rutherford,_ he reminded himself as his next suitor pushed into his field of vision. 

            But in a refreshing change of pace, he recognized this one. 

            Dorian smirked at him from behind an elaborate dragon mask, that mustache twirling up to match his lips.  He extended his hand just like the high-born lady he most certainly wasn't. 

            "I'm waiting, Commander," he announced, wiggling his fingers when Cullen didn't immediately reach for him. 

            He snorted.  "You never fail to surprise me, Dorian," he replied, taking the mage's hand.  He positioned himself properly, one hand on Dorian's waist, and his new partner blew him a kiss. 

            "Just trying to keep your spirits up, Commander," he said as the music swelled.  They started the dance, Cullen chuckling to himself as he caught the tune.  Of course Dorian would find him for something with a lot of lifts. 

            He spun the mage out on the first turn, hearing whispers of "Look at that!" and "Wonder if the Duchess knows his preferences" that made his stomach turn.  What prejudice, here of all places, and he said so to Dorian when the music brought them chest to chest once more. 

            "Don't fret," he said as they moved.  "They're just jealous." 

            "Jealous of what?"  He asked as he stepped around Dorian. 

            "That we're both still wearing clothes, I imagine," he said, giving Cullen a saucy wink that made him roll his eyes.  If there were ever a contest for most ridiculous flirt, Dorian would give any Orlesian a run for his money. 

            "I just hope you aren't expecting me to do the lifts in this piece," he grumbled, knowing the smirk on his face would give away his amusement. 

            "Why Commander, I'm insulted you wouldn't do that for me."  Dorian moved parallel to him, holding an arm out across his chest for Cullen to grasp. 

            "It's not that," Cullen said, tucking his hand to Dorian's side as the steps dictated.  "I just don't believe I could lift you." 

            Dorian gave him a dirty look beneath his mask, and Cullen smirked at him.  They traded barbs back and forth for the remainder of the dance, sans lifts as Cullen had cautioned.  By the time the music ended, Cullen felt a little better, his frustration drained with the flippant atmosphere that followed Dorian wherever he went. 

            They clapped politely for the musicians, and Dorian gave him an elaborate bow.  "That was most enjoyable, Commander," he complimented him.  Cullen tried not to look too pleased with himself.  "But I admit, my motives were less than truthful.  The Inquisitor actually sent me to fetch you. Something about needing someone who was taller and less… delicate than me."  He brushed some invisible dirt from his uniform to illustrate this. 

            "And where's Iron Bull?"  Surely the qunari would be a better fit than him. 

            Dorian shrugged.  "I'm not sure where the great lummox is.  But she requested you by name, in any case." 

            He pushed away how his heart soared at the idea.  She was engaged.  Their friendship was merely that, and anything else endangered the security of the Inquisition.  He'd projected too much onto her actions over the last few days and weeks; he had to stop. 

            Dorian waved a hand in his face, and he startled.  "Apologies.  What were you saying?" 

            "The Inquisitor needs you," Dorian said with a smirk.  "She's out in the gardens beyond the guest wing of the Palace." 

            Cullen pondered this for a moment.  "Dorian, I'm supposed to be in here.  I have duties to perform for the court." 

            Dorian brushed this away with a flourish.  "Nonsense.  Our fearless leader requested your help, and she shall get it."  He looped his hand through Cullen's elbow and led the Commander off the dance floor.  "I shall walk with you past Josephine to distract her, and then you'll be free." 

            Cullen snorted.  "For… what? Two minutes until she realizes and sends Leliana after me?"  He could see the Ambassador chatting with her sister a few steps ahead now. 

            "Don't worry, Commander," Dorian said, patting his arm.  "They want our success here as much as you.  Well.  Perhaps less, considering what you've agreed do."  He gave Cullen a wink. 

            "I cannot believe I'm agreeing to this." 

            "I can!"  The mage sang cheerfully as they slipped past their colleagues.  "Now go!  And hurry -- I couldn’t resist dancing, and she's probably worried."  Cullen hesitated long enough that Dorian smacked his shoulder and hissed "Go!" at him before he scrambled away. 

            The guest wing of the palace was crowded, and once Cullen had to dodge sideways into what looked like a trophy room to avoid two previously overenthusiastic admirers.  Once they had passed, muttering about finding that Fereldan Commander again, he made his way outside, straightening his uniform and trying to look as calm and collected as possible. 

            It didn't matter.  Everything in him clenched when he saw her, and anger welled up in his chest, hot and heavy.  How could she not tell him she was promised to Starkhaven, that she'd made the same commitment as he to the Inquisition's cause?  They were friends, after all -- she owed him that much respect, at least.  Especially since she'd kept right on flirting with him, making everything worse for wondering when there was nothing to be had between them. 

            He strode across the gardens to meet her, nearly crashing into the nobles gathered there as he tried to formulate what he'd say.  Their friendship mattered enough to him that he didn't want to ruin things, but neither did he want to give his approval of her decision.    

            Then she turned round.  He watched how her face melted, caught the tension draining and the smile blooming when she saw him, and his frustration dissipated. 

            She fluttered her fingers at him as she met him, picking her way slowly through the nobles gathered in the garden.  Likely she didn't want to look too excited -- calling out across the party was strictly forbidden, Cullen had no doubts -- but her smile was wide under her mask. 

            "I've been waiting for you," she said when she got close.  Without hesitation, she grabbed his hand and started for the fountain.  "I was worried you wouldn't come." 

            Cullen walked along behind her, enjoying her hand in his as he followed.  "Of course I did, Inquisitor," he said, fighting to keep his voice level.  He wasn't yet sure if he wanted to yell or embrace her. 

            She flashed him a smile.  "I'm glad."  The fountain gurgled just ahead, and she dug around in her sleeve for something.  "Here.  I found these, throw one with me?"  She passed him something small, and he dropped her hand to accept it. 

            Andraste smiled placidly up at him from a coin, a mirror of the one his brother had given him years before.   This one caught the light, its golden shine marking it as one of the caprice coins that floated around the Orlesian courts.  They were symbols of standing or favor; once, chevaliers carried them as tokens from their patrons or -- Cullen closed his fist over the coin, his heart rising to his throat.  The coins were often tokens from lovers, in the old days.  Now they were just flashy bits of money, but the gesture didn't feel so superficial when standing beside the Inquisitor. 

            He looked over to find her studying him, worrying the coin in her palm as she waited.  Opening his fist, he gave her a shaky smile.  "I'd be happy to," he said softly. 

            She kept her eyes on his even as she extended her hand.  "Make a wish," she commanded gently, dropping her coin in the water. 

            "I will," he replied, tossing his own.  He could have sworn he heard it clink to the bottom of the fountain in the silence that hung heavy between them.  Desires flitted across his mind like shooting stars, and he struggled to grasp onto one to give into the Maker's hands.   That he be stronger, more able to withstand what he knew was coming?  That she renounce all their arrangements as was her right as Inquisitor and ask him, once more, if he ever thought about her in those dark moments when nothing else felt right? 

            Looking into those green eyes across from his, Cullen realized that what he really wanted, deep down, was for her to be happy.  He'd prefer it to be with him, Maker take that selfish desire, but he could be resigned to anything if she were content. 

            It was this wish he offered up as the fountain gurgled beside him.  He was certain she could hear his heart beating wildly, his pulse rising the longer she held his gaze.  An uncertainty lingered there in the depths of her eyes, some question still unanswered as they stared at each other, each unwilling to break. 

            Then she looked away, heaving a sigh, and reality settled onto his shoulders again. 

            "You told Dorian you needed my help with something?"  He prompted her, rubbing the back of his neck. 

            "What?"  Surprise flickered over her face before she gave herself a quick shake.  "Oh, yes.  I need to get up there."  She gestured to the trellis off to one side of the garden. 

            Cullen wasn't sure what that had to do with him.  "And I can… get you up there?  Do you need me to bring Josephine a message?" 

            "No, silly," she said, rolling her eyes.  She grabbed for his hand again and pulled him after her, into the dark corner of the garden where the trellis waited.  "I need a boost." 

            He couldn't have heard that right.  "What?" 

            In the shadows, Talia found a burlap sack and quickly untied its neck, fishing around inside.  "I need you to physically lift me up so I can climb the trellis into the apartments," she repeated, speaking slowly as if to a child. 

            Cullen shot her a glare.  "I understood the words, Inquisitor," he replied, more annoyed than he meant to sound.  "What I do not understand is the _why_." 

            "Look," she said, handing him one of the knee-high beige boots she so favored around Skyhold.  He accepted without thinking.  "I need someone to help me, and then I need that person to follow me up and watch my back.  Dorian's too much of a wuss to climb the wall, and Iron Bull is too obvious."  She passed him the other boot and grabbed his shoulder for balance as she started rooting around under her skirts. 

            Cullen couldn't figure out what to ask first.  "I apologize for repeating myself, but what?" 

            With a grunt, she pulled off one of her slippers and tossed it in the sack.  She gestured for a boot.  "Iron Bull is qunari," she said slowly, grabbing the boot from his grasp when he didn't pass it over fast enough.  He was still considering how Sera must have put it there.  "It'll draw attention.  This," she grunted again as she forced her heel down into the boot.   "Looks like we're sneaking off together, and no Orlesian will blink at that." 

            Cullen handed her the other boot unprompted this time.  "If I may ask… isn't that what we're doing?" 

            Talia shot him a look as she bent to lace up the boots under her skirt.  "Are you planning on taking your pants off, Commander?" 

            Heat that had little to do with embarrassment shot through him, and he was grateful for the shadows of where they stood.  "Maker's breath, of course not!" 

            She straightened, smoothing her skirts.  Cullen studied her -- there was a blush to her cheeks that hadn't been there before, and he wondered if it had anything with the heat that had settled over him.  _She's marrying someone else, of course it doesn't,_ but he couldn't help how he hoped. 

            "Then let the Orlesians think what they like," she announced, stamping her feet to make sure the boots were on tight.  "We know we're not sneaking off for that.  Ready?" 

            He nodded as his thoughts wandered.  Visions of another Winter Palace, a different Winter Palace, spun through his head, one where they were together and happy, perhaps attempting to dance or keeping each other safe from whatever agents of destruction that lurked about.  They could sneak off, if they wanted; they could hold hands and keep admirers away and steal kisses and whatever else they wanted in that other palace that didn't exist. 

            The Inquisitor had tied up the sack and stepped toward the garden wall by the time he focused enough to realize she still needed him, alternate or not. 

            That had to be enough. 

            "Ready," he murmured, squaring his shoulders under his uniform jacket.  He followed her to the trellis, noting its rough wooden edges lined with ivy.  The potential for danger here was high, and not merely because of the risks of getting caught snooping around the Winter Palace;  the Inquisitor could easily slip and fall in the elaborate skirt she was wearing, and their little excursion would be over. 

            He said as much to her as she readied herself to climb.  "Nonsense," she dismissed, reaching up to get a good grip.  "Now, give me a boost?"   The reason for her shoe swap made sense as he crouched beside her, supporting her heel in the woven net of his gloved hands. 

            "Will you be all right?"  He couldn't help asking, though he knew she'd only ignored his concern. 

            "Cullen," she murmured, reaching for him.  One gloved hand cupped his jaw gently, mindful of the bruise hiding there, and she gave him a soft smile.  "I promise you:  I'll be fine." 

            He tried to smile back up at her and felt it falter on his lips.  Mere hours ago, he'd have given anything for the chance to spend time alone with her, even if it meant following her into danger.  But if anyone saw them… Talia seemed so nonchalant about the potential for rumors, but Leliana's sharp eyes had impressed on him just how perilous those whispers could really be.  Would she regret it later, if her Starker intended asked questions?  Would Josephine create an even worse future for him as punishment for a destroyed alliance with Orlais? 

            But Cullen did not possess the ability to walk away now, not when the Inquisitor needed him.  His first priority as her Commander was her safety.  That, he told himself as he crouched in this Orlesian garden, her hand warm on his cheek, was his guiding light in this world of darkness and fleeting demons. 

            "And don't forget," she said, drawing him back to her.  "You'll be right behind me."  Her eyebrows flickered up with the laughter on her lips, and Cullen knew he would follow her into the Fade if only to be near her. 

            "Of course, Inquisitor," he replied.  His smirk was surer now, more stable, and he shifted his weight so he could boost her up.  "Ready?" 

            With a nod, Talia pulled herself up as Cullen pushed himself to standing.  She wavered for the slightest of moments before she found a toehold in the latticework, and then she was gone, climbing swiftly into the shadows.  For a moment, Cullen watched her go.  He didn't often get the opportunity to see her in action, and her effortless climb showed off the grace and economy of her movements. 

            Then she pulled herself over the ledge at the top and glanced back down at him.  "Cullen, come on!" she hissed, gesturing for him to follow.  He'd nearly forgotten. 

            His climb was not quite so elegant as the Inquisitor's.  The rungs of the trellis might have fit her feet perfectly but his boots were quite a bit larger, and the ridiculous nature of his uniform made it difficult to move.  When he finally managed to roll himself onto the ledge -- with no small amount of muttered curses -- the Inquisitor was giggling into her gloves. 

            "Are you all right?"  She asked when she had the breath. 

            Cullen pushed himself up, using one hand to balance until he had his wits about him.  "I am glad to provide you such amusement, Inquisitor," he grumbled. 

            "Oh, come off it," she teased.  She stepped close, reaching up to cup his cheek as she pushed herself onto her toes.  "You made a lovely effort."    For a split second, he thought she was about to lean in and kiss him, so smooth and casual were her movements, and then she seemed to catch herself.  She dropped her hand like she'd been burned on his flesh, stumbling backward, and her boot landed in what was unquestionably a puddle of blood. 

            "Inquisitor --"  He caught her as she recoiled back into his chest, and together they studied this new development of the Winter Palace.  Whatever had happened a moment before was forgotten. 

            "That's blood," she stated, her voice flat. 

            "Yes," he replied.  He ran his hands up and down her arms unconsciously as she stood before him, her shoulder to his chest.  "I suspect you have seen it before?" 

            As a rule, he would have expected some sort of cheeky remark, but she didn't react.  "I don't normally encounter it in puddles," she said quietly.  "Usually I'm the one leaving the puddles behind."   Something lingered in her voice, some sadness that Cullen couldn't place, and he made a mental note to ask her about it later. 

            "Shall we follow the trail?"  He reluctantly removed one hand from her arm to gesture toward another small pool of blood a few feet away.   She looked at her now bare arm for a moment before following his pointing finger with her eyes. 

            "That’s a good idea," she said.  Slowly she came back to herself, the heavy weight of the Inquisitor settling back over her shoulders, and Cullen watched in amazement as she built the walls around her back up.  He'd only rarely seen it, this transformation of the woman he now knew he loved into the leader she'd been forced to become, and when he did, she never appeared as withdrawn as she did now. 

            "Talia," he murmured, placing his hand back on her shoulder.  "Are you all right?" 

            She craned her neck to look up at him and smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes.  "I'm fine," she replied.  "We have work to do." 

            Cullen knew a dismissal when he heard one; he'd so often dismissed his own issues that it would be impossible not to.  But his concern for her didn't diminish as she followed the blood trailed across the stone.  The path weaved and stuttered, likely left by someone wounded, before they encountered an elaborate blue door with a series of tiny keyhole-like spaces around its handle.  Talia paused to dig around in her skirt and produced several miniature halla statues.  Carefully she worked each one into the spaces, muttering to herself as she did.  The door lit up with a cloud of silvery magic that tingled up Cullen's nerves, and it clicked open. 

            The coppery scent of blood floated out, and Talia recoiled.  "I hate that smell," she muttered, though she looked ready to investigate. 

            Cullen shuffled up beside her.  "Here, let me."  He pushed the door open and stepped inside.  The room beyond lay in chaos.  At least three bodies sprawled on the floor, blood pooling beneath them.  What little portion of the floor wasn't covered in blood boasted torn papers and splinters of broken furniture. 

            He hesitated in the doorway, studying the dented mask near his boot.  It must have fallen off in the struggle.  Could he possibly prevent her from seeing all this?  She'd seemed so unsettled by the blood on the terrace, and he knew she carried everything that happened like a weight around her neck.  Of all the things he admired about her, the first was her strength, but he knew better than anyone what refusing to ask for help could do to a person's spirit.  The Inquisitor never did ask for help, at least not the kind that might alleviate the obligations she felt were her duty.  If only she would -- he'd do anything to help her, including digging through the possessions of corpses to spare her the task. 

            "Cullen?  What's inside?"  Talia asked quietly from behind him. 

            He glanced over his shoulder.  "Are you sure you want to see?"  The same hesitation from before passed over her features as he watched, and then the weight vanished.  In its wake the Inquisitor looked quizzically at him, and for a second, he wondered if he'd imagined it.  "Of course I'm sure," she said.  She stepped inside, touching his shoulder gently to move him out of the way.  Cullen obliged. 

            They picked through the mess carefully.  Neither wanted to touch the bodies, and instead they edged around them.  Once, Cullen caught the Inquisitor by her elbow as she stretched too far for a piece of paper and almost slipped in a pool of blood. 

            "Careful, Inquisitor," he reminded her as he helped her straighten up.  "We can't have you looking a mess for the court."  She gave him a sideways look, and he avoided her eyes.  He'd almost said for her Starkhaven betrothed, but he'd caught himself just in time.  The idea resonated in his head, overwhelming his thoughts. 

            Every time he saw that uncertainty flicker across her face, he wondered what she was thinking.  If she still cared about him.  He thought back to his argument with Cassandra earlier that night.  She'd told him he sounded like the Inquisitor when he denied that he had anything left to salvage, that there was any kind of future here worth fighting for.   Had the Inquisitor said the same thing?  What if she did care for him, did want him, and couldn't now that the alliance was coming to fruition? 

            The Inquisitor was saying something beside him, reading off a scroll she'd found buried in the pile of scattered papers.  If he focused he could hear it -- it sounded like Gaspard warning Celene about the elven ambassador -- but he found he didn't want to; instead, he studied her profile, the graceful slope of her shoulders and neck as she read, the quick movements of her eyes, the shape of her lips. 

            What if they could have a future?  What would change, if he stopped hiding from her? 

            But when she looked over at him, startling him with the intensity of her gaze, he remembered their promises and duties elsewhere.  Despite how desperately he longed for a different future, this was the path they were on.  This was the path they had chosen, and they must accept it. 

            He was getting married in three days, Talia not long after. 

            Their chance had come and gone all those months ago.  All Cullen could do now was wall up his heart, protect himself from what was coming, and keep moving forward. 

            "Cullen?  Did you hear that?  Gaspard thinks it's Briala, he even warned Celene.  And this last line… Leliana will need to look into it, I think,"  she said, her eyes shifting between his face and the letter before her.   "Cullen?"  

            He schooled his expression into one of attentive neutrality.  "Leliana will be most interested, Inquisitor," he said calmly.  "She wanted to look deeper into Briala as it was."  Talia nodded slowly, though he could see she wasn't quite convinced he was paying attention. 

            "I agree," she replied.  Stepping closer, she lay a hand on his forearm.  "Are you quite all right, Cullen?" 

            "Hm?  Of course, Inquisitor," he replied.  Swiftly he moved away, careful to avoid the blood on the floor, and held the door open for her.  "We need to keep moving.  Whoever killed these men might have hurt someone else." 

            She sighed.  "Yes, of course."  Tucking the scroll away, she stepped over the bodies and back out onto the terrace.  Another trail of blood led to another set of elaborate doors, these larger and more impressive than the first.  The sign here announced them as the entrance to the Grand Library.  They opened easily, revealing a series of statues and shelves upon shelves of books. 

            Cullen followed the Inquisitor as she stepped inside.  He should have been first, should have examined the room before allowing her to enter in the name of safety, but his mind was elsewhere.  He couldn't help thinking of the alliance Talia was forming with Starkhaven.  Why had she agreed to it?  Had he been wrong all those times he thought she still cared about him? 

            It didn't seem possible. 

            But her marriage threw everything into sharp relief, and it only made sense that he'd been sliced to the quick.  He'd let duty guide him to an alliance for the greater good, made a choice he didn't really want, and now he must live with the result.  He would marry someone else, Talia would marry someone else, and they would spend their days as colleagues, perhaps friends, and nothing more. 

            Unbeknownst to him, Talia had returned to stand in front of him, a veilfire torch in her hand.  "Cullen, are you sure you're all right?"  She asked, and her voice startled him from his thoughts once again. 

            "Yes, Inquisitor, as I said --" 

            She interrupted.  "You seem very distracted.  Care to share?" 

            The desire to throw caution to the wind and pull her into his arms crossed his mind, and he swallowed hard, willing it away.  Instead, he stared down into those vivid green eyes and knew he had to say something.  "Cassandra told me about the alliance with Starkhaven." 

            Whatever she had been expecting him to say, it hadn't been that.  The façade of the Inquisitor crumbled, vulnerability suddenly painted across her striking features, and he knew he hadn't imagined anything. 

            "Oh," she whispered, her mouth hanging open.  "Uh, yes. Josephine finalized it just before we left." 

            Cullen nodded.  "Congratulations," he said stiffly.  "When is the ceremony?" 

            She stared up at him, the same dazed expression locked on her face.  "In three weeks. While… while you're still in Orlais on your honeymoon." 

            He fought down the bile rising in his throat at the thought.  "I am… sorry I, uh, cannot be there." 

            Something hardened in her eyes.  "I don't want you there," she forced out, and a spike of pain went through his chest.  Dropping his gaze, he tried not to let it show. 

            "I wanted you, you know," she continued, and the spike grew hotter.  "And while I'm okay with our friendship, and I'm really glad we're close and all…"  She trailed off, her voice going weak.  "It's not what I wanted." 

            Cullen lifted his eyes to study her.  He couldn't be hearing this right, not after all the times he'd gone over it in his own head.  

            At his silence, Talia kept going.  "I thought for a while that maybe… maybe I was wrong."  Her voice hitched, and she took a deep breath.  "I thought you said no but you didn't mean it… You are so hard to read, shy but flirty, and I thought… But then you said yes to Josephine's idea about Orlais, and I… I realized it was all my imagination, that you might want something… more."

            The awful reality sank into his stomach, icy and low.  "Maker, I --" he began, his voice hoarse.     

            Talia held up her hand, the Anchor sparking green through the lace of her gloves.  "Don't.  I can't hear you apologize like that day again, Cullen."  If only she knew how he wished himself back to that day on the battlements, how he wanted to change everything about their lives since then.  He reached for her, intending to tell her, but she took a step back, her arm like a barricade in front of her.  "I'm so confused all the time when I'm around you," she continued.  "I can never figure out what you want, how you feel… and I can't stand the idea of you marrying someone else."  Her voice cracked, and she looked away.  "So I have to go when we're done here, and by the time you come back I'll be married too, and whatever this is," she made an angry gesture between them.  "It'll be over." 

            "Talia," he said softly, taking a step closer.  Her hand caught on his chest, halting him in place. 

            "No, Cullen," she choked out.  Tears lingered on her lashes as she met his gaze.  

            He wrapped his hands around hers, holding it close over his heart.   No doubt she could feel its pounding through his chest, but he didn't care.  "Please… let me…"  But he didn’t know how to continue.  Let him what?   Explain?  Try to fix this?  He didn't know how to do either, did not know how to set right this path they were on, and how could he anyway, when his world felt like it was crumbling around him? 

            She pulled her hand from his grip and wiped at her eyes through her mask, catching the tears before they could fall.  "I can't keep going over this in my head.  It's too much." 

            "If I had known…"  he told her softly, trying to catch her eyes.  She staunchly avoided his face, instead letting her gaze roam about the room. 

            "Don't bother, Cullen, not now."  She barked out a harsh laugh, her voice thick.  "This is what I want.  Anyway, there's nothing we can do now." 

            He clenched his eyes shut, willing the tightness in his chest to abate.  He didn't, couldn't, believe her… but he didn't have the right to question her.  If this was what she said she wanted… he would do everything in his power to give it to her.  "I'm sorry, Inquisitor," he whispered. 

            Across from him, she sniffled, and his eyes shot open to look at her.  "It's fine, Cullen," she said shortly, turning away.  She scanned the room, the veilfire torch still in her hand.  "We have a job to do," she said finally, her feature hardening again.  The light glinted off one of the stones in her mask, and Cullen remembered where they were, what they were supposed to be doing here in the Winter Palace. 

            "Yes," he agreed quietly, fingertips reaching up to brush his own mask.  His skin itched under it.  "We have a job to do." 


	7. Chapter 7

            Silence hung thick between them as they explored the first rooms of the Grand Library.   Certainly there were enough objects of interest here to distract them from each other: statues lined the walls and complicated inscriptions decorated each urn guarding the space.   A note rested on the desk in the back room where Talia had found the veilfire, some correspondence between Celene and an adviser about who she could trust in the court.  Talia had handed it to him without a word, and now she was rifling through a chest in the far corner, looking for further clues. 

            He read the note several times, committing it to memory in lieu of speaking.  They'd need to give this to Leliana just like the note about Briala; perhaps she'd know who "Lady M" was, as Cullen certainly did not.  Perhaps Talia did -- she'd talked to more well-positioned nobles than he in the course of the evening. 

            A sniffle echoed through the room, and Cullen shot her a glance.  She hadn't moved, her back to him, but she'd stopped searching through the chest before her. 

            His heart clenched at the sound, and their conversation washed over him again.  He turned her words over in his mind, never realizing he was memorizing her instead of the note before him.  She had wanted him… and now she said she wanted this Starker Prince.  The alliance would give her position, power, security… everything he could not.  

            But Vael?  His stomach turned at the thought of the man.  Sebastian Vael had been one of Hawke's companions in Kirkwall, so Cullen was not unfamiliar with him, but he'd never been of a mind to befriend him.  The Chantry brother seemed so uptight, too full of himself and his mission, that Cullen had wanted little to do with him.  Looking back, Vael would have likely made a strong companion for the man Cullen had been in Kirkwall, but he was glad to have avoided him. 

            Now, he was to be Talia's husband, her protector in Thedas, the person she would trust above all else.  Would it ever come to that?  Would she ever learn to love that uptight prick?  Certainly she was willing enough to give him the chance.  And come to think of it, would he ever come to feel comfortable with, let alone love, his own future wife? Would the day come when he and Talia looked back on these tension-filled days and months with laughter at how they'd pined over each other, two old friends re-living the glory days of the Inquisition?

            That future made him want to vomit. 

            Swiftly he stepped out of that cramped back room and stood amidst the lion-shaped urns in the antechamber of the library, trying to fight off the rising panic in his gut.  Each was inscribed with the names and accomplishments of an Orlesian Emperor; someday, Celene's ashes would rest here as well -- sooner rather than later if they couldn't stop the assassin. 

            A shiver ran down Cullen's spine. 

            He'd crumpled the note in his hands at the thought of Sebastian Vael and now tried to smooth it out, carefully folding it and storing it in his pocket.  He'd need to pass it on.  Instead he moved slowly about the room, reading each Emperor's history as he tried to slow his racing heart.  A series of deep breaths later and the knot of anxiety in his chest started to loosen. 

            Footsteps slowly echoed from the back room, and Talia emerged, her eyes dry.  Cullen met her gaze and gave her a tiny, hesitant smile.  "There is a space here to light," he said quietly, gesturing to the wicks on the tops of each urn.  "I don’t know what it will do, but…"  He let the offer hang in the air. 

            No matter what the complications, he couldn't bear to lose her friendship.  If she wanted Vael, he could learn to live with it.  He knew he could put his feelings aside for the sake of the Inquisition;  he'd done it before, and even if this time it would cost him his heart, he could do it again. 

            Talia gave him a shaky smile.  "It can't hurt to try," she replied, and Cullen felt the tightness in his chest loosen a little more. 

            They fiddled with the urns for a while, lighting them in differing orders and inspiring different colored flames to flare up toward the ceiling.  Sometimes they stayed lit, and others they blew out, the magic of the veilfire extinguished when they didn't get the order right.  Talia murmured about archaic protections while Cullen grumbled about unnecessary magic, and once, when she lit the wrong urn and four others went out, they both muttered "fucking Orlais" under their breath.  They looked up, identical surprise on both their faces, and exchanged broad, genuine smiles that made Cullen feel a little better. 

            Eventually, all six urns glowed with a deep blue flame.  A rumble echoed through the room as a section of the floor dropped into the stone, revealing a long staircase leading down into darkness. 

            He and Talia exchanged surprised looks, and again their friendship forced itself back into their awareness.  "After you, my lady," he chuckled, gesturing broadly to the stairs. 

            She smirked at him.  "Don't mind if I do, Commander." 

            They moved cautiously, but Cullen saw no blood spatters here to concern them.  Instead the veilfire in Talia's hand cast long, flickering shadows along the ceiling until the walls opened up into a large, cluttered room.  If the sheets over the furniture were any indication, it had been abandoned long ago, cobwebs gathered around the candelabras.  Several additional urns -- perhaps those Emperors not represented above -- were stacked in one corner, and an elaborate wing-backed chair guarded a dusty bookshelf in another. 

            "What is this?"  Talia breathed, her eyes taking in everything in the soft light of the torch.  "Where are we?" 

            Cullen ran his hand along a shelf, his glove coming away grimy.  "Some sort of ancient storage space, I think," he said.  

            Talia left him standing in the doorway to explore, and he let her go without hesitation.  Left to his own devices, he popped open a chest, pulling out a carefully folded recipe for something called a confusion grenade that he was sure Sera would enjoy.  Pocketing it, he ran his fingers around the bottom of the chest, feeling for any secret catches. 

            Talia cursed on the other side of the room, and his eyes flew to her.  "Are you all right?"  He called, but she didn't turn. 

            "I'm fine," she ground out, irritation edging her voice.  Cullen frowned but didn't push her.  The chest at his feet forgotten, he studied her back, wondering what he could do to make sure he didn't lose her friendship.  Likely there was nothing right now -- certainly not while they lurked in the back rooms of the Winter Palace -- but perhaps he could find a way to show her his support, his caring, even if he could not give her anything else. 

            "What do you think of this," she called, and he was grateful for the distraction from his thoughts.   He joined her at the bookshelf where she'd found a blade schematic and peered at it over her shoulder.  "I think Dorian might appreciate this." 

            The staff blade in the drawing curved, wicked and deadly, and the title of "Magister" encouraged his confidence.  "He certainly would," he agreed, and she nodded, folding it up to tuck away for safekeeping.  "Harritt will appreciate the challenge as well, I believe." 

            "That's probably true," she said stiffly without turning to face him.  Cullen quickly backed away lest he make her uncomfortable by proximity.  Waiting near the door, he rubbed the back of his neck, willing away the prickling sensation that always bothered him when he felt uncomfortable. 

            After a few more minutes of poking around, Talia turned to him, the veilfire in her hands hiding her face behind the black shadow of her mask.  "I think I've got everything we can use," she said. 

            "Good," he said with a nod.  "Perhaps we should keep moving.  They'll be noticing our absence from the ball any moment now."  He did not miss the disappointment that crossed her face.  "I mean… We can keep looking around, of course, but uh… Josephine might be upset."  He cringed, glad for the first time that his mask concealed the furrows of his brow.  Responsibilities he had no desire to attend waited as soon as they returned, and he did not want to rush back into their grasp. 

            "You're probably right," she conceded, brushing past him.  Cullen didn't miss that, where she would normally step close enough that he could smell her perfume, tonight she kept her distance.  The barest breath of crystal grace greeted him as he followed her up the stairs, faint as smoke in the wind. 

            He inhaled deeply when she paused to open the library door, hoarding it away as though he could preserve this night, or any others. 

            It was impossible, he knew, but it was all he had. 

            Then they stepped through the door into the library itself, and all other thoughts vanished. 

            The Grand Library stretched out before them, silent and empty and utterly breathtaking.  Cathedral ceilings arched away into the shadows, elaborate angels and royal blue curtains decorating the columns that rose gracefully to support them.  Unlit chandeliers hung throughout the hall, their golden arms reaching for the windows around them.  And everywhere books, shelves upon shelves of books that ascended every wall, candlelight fluttering on the tables set into scattered alcoves between them. 

            In all his life, Cullen had never seen anything like this place. 

            Talia faltered beside him, her mouth hanging open.  "Maker," she breathed.  In her hand, the veilfire torch sputtered out, leaving them with only the flickering dim light of the candles to guide them. 

            "This is…" Cullen began, unsure how to continue, but Talia had already headed down the stairs into the library proper.  He hesitated to follow her, wondering if she was just trying to get away from him.  He would understand, after everything she'd laid bare to him. 

            But when she looked over her shoulder and waved at him to follow, he did without pause. As he moved, he couldn't help chuckling to himself.  The first hint that she wanted him even remotely near her, and he was a mabari on her heels once again. 

            Slowly they wandered through the stacks, investigating notes and letters here and there, but more than anything they absorbed the library itself.  It was smaller than it first looked, one wall an enormous balcony overlooking the Palace's Hall of Heroes, but Cullen could have spent days exploring its mysteries.  Perhaps, should he need an escape from his impending marriage, he could return. 

            He watched Talia flit among the stacks, searching for something only she seemed to know was there, and sighed.  The lovesick fool he was had no explanation for his behavior -- he just wanted to be near her, wanted to know he hadn't irreparably damaged their friendship, that she still cared about him even a little bit. 

            Her muffled cry of "perfect!" heralded her success, and he glanced around, eager to find something to show her if only to prolong their time together.  Luckily a door near the stairs was locked -- Cullen was many things, but a locksmith was not among them, and he searched her out to ask her assistance. 

            "Inquisitor," he called again when he was unable to find her.  A wave of concern washed over him.  Had something happened?  Had this been where the assassin lay in wait, hoping easy prey would wander through?  Maker's breath, had he handed over the Inquisitor like some ancient sacrificial offering to be --

            "Don't shout," she hissed, and he spotted her leaning over the railing to inspect the Hall of Heroes.  Quickly he moved to her side. 

            "What's going on?" 

            She pointed, and Cullen spotted a group of Orlesian nobles opposite the enormous room below them.  Straining his eyes, he tried to make them out.  Talia leaned in, pressing herself close so she could avoid drawing their attention.  "I think that's part of the Council of Heralds," she whispered in his ear.  A shiver ran up his spine that he couldn't quite suppress at the heat of her breath on his skin. "I can't hear them though, and I…"  She hesitated, leaning away suddenly as if realizing her position against his side. 

            "We don't want to get caught," Cullen supplied softly, meeting her eyes. 

            "No," she breathed, shaking her head.  He watched her hesitance cross her face, wishing he could smooth the furrows of her brow with his touch.  Carefully he reached for her, resting one gloved hand on her waist, and when she didn't move away, he stood up from the railing to face her. 

            "Talia, I…" he began, and she pressed a single finger to his lips, silencing him. 

            "I want to show you something," she whispered, shifting her hand to run her thumb over his cheekbone.  Keeping his mouth shut, Cullen nodded.  With soft eyes, she ran her hand down his shoulder and arm until she caught his fingers in hers.  "Come with me." 

            "Anywhere," he breathed, though he wasn't sure if she heard, turned from him as she already was.  He hurried after her, anxious to keep her hand wrapped in his, beholden to any connection between them he could have.  As he slowed at her side, Talia laced their fingers without hesitation.  She didn’t look at him, didn't give any indication that she heard his racing heart or felt the desperation in his grip, but neither did she drop his hand when they'd reached the tiny side room near the staircase. 

            At first glance, it was merely another storage room, full of marble statues and discarded paintings.  A single lit candle threw dancing shadows along the wall, illuminating the sheet-draped furniture and low shelves that filled the space.  Glancing around, Cullen wasn't sure what Talia saw to entice her so. 

            She, however, made straight for a low, obsidian sculpture mounted on a bronze pedestal.  "Look at this," she murmured, her free hand tracing over its curved edges.  "This is one of the elven artifacts I wrote you about."   Cullen studied it as he wracked his brain, trying to remember when she had written about them.  Solas had lectured the war council on their importance in strengthening the Veil soon after he and Talia found the first of them in the Hinterlands, but Talia had written him so many times that he couldn't be sure. 

            He started to ask only to have the soft smile on her lips dissuade him.  "Remember?" she continued softly, squeezing his hand.  "I tried to draw you a picture of it, but my artistic skills are… lacking." 

            The image sprang to his mind, and he chuckled.  Her attempts at sketching had been rough-edged and nearly shapeless, nothing like the graceful object before them.  "I do remember," he told her, just as soft.  The timing wasn’t important; this was a moment they shared, one of many points of connection between them early in the Inquisition's tenure. 

            She leaned against him, much like she had hours before in his guest room.  "We've been through a lot together," she murmured.  "The Inquisition, that is." 

            Cullen nodded, closing his eyes against the ache that engulfed his chest.  He had to tell her -- she had to know how he felt, before he gave up everything in service to the Inquisition.  "Talia," he said, his throat suddenly tight.  If there were even the slightest chance… he must take it.

            She squeezed his hand again.  "Hm?"    

            He took a deep breath, pulling all his determination, all his courage, to the surface.  "I… I didn't understand," he forced out.  "That is, I… I never knew what I was saying no to, that day on the battlements." 

            Whatever expectations he had that she would want to listen to him crumbled when she jerked away from him like he'd stabbed her.  "What?"  she demanded as her features grew hard, her mouth a tight line below her mask.  "What makes you think I want to hear that, Cullen?" 

            He faltered, his determination fleeing.  "I-I thought… That is, I hoped…" 

            She practically flung his hand away from her.  "You hoped what?  That saying it would change something?"   With a swirl of skirts, she stormed out of the room, leaving Cullen behind. 

            "Talia," he called, moving after her.  "Inquisitor, wait!"  He could see her wiping her face as she headed for the opposite end of the library, the Anchor sending rays of green light sparkling around the room.

            "Leave me alone," she answered, her voice thick. 

            "Let me explain," he pleaded as he grabbed for her wrist. 

            She spun to face him, those emerald eyes bright with tears.  "No, Cullen," she snapped, advancing on him.  He held his ground as she did, gaze trained on hers.  "We cannot do this."  One hand came up to weakly push at him, and he caught it in his grip, laying it over his heart like he had an hour before when she'd confessed how she wanted him.

             "Please," he whispered.  He'd squandered that opportunity, and the one so many months before as well.  He could not live to do it again.  A tear broke free of her eyelashes and rolled down her cheek, sliding smoothly beneath the filigree of her mask to catch on her chin.  Vigorously she shook her head, trying to avoid his gaze, and he let go of her wrist to cup her cheek. 

            "I put that all aside long ago, Commander," she said faintly.  Once his title might have weakened him, but this was not that day. 

            Cullen studied her, his heart hammering beneath her hand.  Despite her claim, she hadn't pulled away from him.  "I didn't," he replied, running his thumb along the lacy edge of her mask.  "I couldn't." 

            "Cullen," she breathed.  "Please."  Cautiously he let go of her hand, expecting her to yank it away like she'd been burned, and instead she dug her fingers into the sash across his chest.  She tugged on it as he slid his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. 

            "All I ever wanted was to kiss you," he murmured, his voice shaking.  "And I never realized until it was too late."  He leaned in slowly, knowing it was a risk, hoping against hope that she wouldn't reject him now. 

            "It is too late," she replied as their breath mingled, as she raised her chin to meet him.  Her other hand clenched in his sleeve, and Cullen brushed his thumb over her cheek as he finally kissed her. 

            He felt her gasp against him, her lips parting as they met his, and it was like he'd been asleep his whole life, the experiences passing him by without the spark he so badly needed to be awakened.  But she pulled him closer, her mouth pressed to his with the heat of perfection, and he felt some part of him long numb come back to life. How he ever imagined he could give her up, how he could live without knowing her touch, he didn't know. 

            Warm tears melted into his skin, and he didn't know if they were Talia's or his own.  His situation had never seemed more impossible than at this moment, standing here with her in his arms as he gave himself to her and knowing that he no longer had the power to make that decision.  Neither of them did.  The Inquisition had called, and they had answered, and Cullen kissed her with the knowledge that this stolen moment was all they could ever have. 

            When he finally pulled away, he couldn't bring himself to let her go.  Her hands slid up his chest, rasping against the uniform buckles to curl into his hair, and he buried his face against her neck.  The comforting scent of crystal grace and vanilla engulfed him as he clung to her, feeling her shake in his arms. 

            "It's too late, Cullen," she repeated, and though they had been her tears, he felt his own burn his eyes. 

            "It can't be," he whispered into her skin.  "Maker… I can't." 

            She disengaged herself from his embrace, her hands rising to cup his face in her palms.  Those emerald eyes darted between his, searching for some answer he would never know.  "We don't have a choice." 

            Leaning in, he rested his forehead against hers and took a deep breath.  He wished… well.  He let out a dry chuckle, turning to brush a kiss against her marked palm through the glove.  The smile she gave him was tight, her eyes still wet, and he closed his lest his own tears fall. 

            There was no point in wishing now. 

            "We must go back," he said eventually, and she nodded against him without a move to leave. 

            "I know."   Neither asked what happened next -- Cullen knew the answer.  Nothing happened.  They carried on as before, Cullen to his wedding and Talia first to the negotiations and then to Starkhaven.  There was nothing here to be had except the warmth of her touch that filled his hollow chest, and that meant little to the needs of the Inquisition. 

            Somewhere voices echoed across the Hall of Heroes into the library.  Talia pulled away first, her fingers coming up to check that her mask was in place before she straightened the collar of her dress around her shoulders.  Cullen watched as she moved, wishing faintly that he could be privy to all her little idiosyncrasies.  There was such openness in the gaze she turned briefly to him before it was extinguished under the guise of the Inquisitor. 

            "Your mask is crooked," she informed him.  He waited, but when she did not move to help him, he adjusted it roughly against his skin.  

            "Better?"  He asked.  She inspected him before nodding, and hurt crept through his chest at her coldness.  It was protection, nothing more and nothing less, and though he understood why she needed it, his heart was breaking. 

            Beside him, she took a deep breath.  Cullen tried not to watch her, but he could not help it; he needed to see some crack in the veneer, some hint that this woman he loved was just as broken inside as he. 

            It did not come.  Reaching deep inside himself, Cullen found the same reserve of coldness that had sustained him for so many years and pulled it around him like an old friend.  He took a breath, then another, and then he was the Commander again, calm and in control.

            He could not afford to show his face to the Inquisitor beside him. 

            "To work?"  He asked her, adopting the same tone he used around the war table, and offered her his arm. 

            "To work," she agreed, tucking her marked hand into his elbow.  They started toward the exit at the far end of the hall, the same stalwart professionals who had earlier that day discussed how to prevent an assassination.  There was nothing between them, and there could be nothing between them, and there _would_ be nothing between them, until the end of their days. 

            Just before the door, the Inquisitor hesitated, her hand tightening on Cullen's elbow.  He patted her hand absentmindedly, just the Commander taking care of the Inquisitor, and waited. 

            But her grip didn't lessen.  "Oh Cullen, I can't," she gasped out suddenly, pulling him around to face her, and then her arms were around his neck, hauling her tight against him, and he caught her, his hands wrapped around her waist like he would never let her go. 

            "Thank the Maker," he prayed into her lips, the force of his kiss nearly knocking her backward as he held her steady in his arms.  One of her hands tangled in his hair, nearly snapping the ribbon of his mask, and with a grunt she yanked it off, tossing it to the floor beside them. 

            "I can't, I can't, I can't," she insisted against his lips, pleading between kisses as she pulled her own mask off too, disregarding how it mussed her hair.  He couldn't take his hands off her to help, desperate to have this one last moment. 

            If out that door was to be his life -- the ornate houses, the complicated dances, the language where nothing meant what it seemed, and the masks, always the masks to ignite his deepest fears -- then, by the grace of the Maker, let him have this one moment to sustain him when everything else was darkness. 

            He never noticed Leliana in the gallery below, staring up at their secret with the knowledge that it could bring the Inquisition down around them. 


	8. Chapter 8

The sun had not yet risen when Cullen woke the morning after the first Orlesian ball.  He jerked awake, sent tumbling into his ornate guest room from the nightmares of the Fade.  For several long minutes, he lay still, willing his heart to slow and his breathing to ease. 

            He had been lucky the night before, not just for Talia's kiss but for his own apparent ease with his surroundings.   After the panic attack at dinner, he hadn't been expecting to get along well surrounded by so many strangers in masks, and even before leaving his room, he'd been apprehensive.  The night had gone so differently than what he'd expected, and he should be grateful. 

            But whatever demons had ignored him throughout the evening had made their loneliness felt in his dreams.  He'd stumbled through the Winter Palace, through Halamshiral around it, all lying in ruins.  Red lyrium grew in tantalizing spires toward the unforgiving skies, its pull both arousing and nauseating.  Demons, so familiar now after years of following him, flitted in and out of his peripheral vision, and somewhere far ahead, the desire demon from Kinloch dragged a body behind it, a body that looked too much like Talia Trevelyan for him to resist. 

            Waking to the Winter Palace itself had almost been a relief. 

            But if the nightmares were there, just on the other side of sleep, Cullen knew he had to step carefully this night.  One evening here without incident, one night without suspicion of the assassin moving in the shadows, meant all other nights held far greater chances of bloodshed and death.  

            He forced himself out of bed.  There was work to be done before tonight -- his men needed to conduct a sweep of the Palace grounds, and he needed to meet with Leliana to discuss what information her agents had acquired so they could better coordinate their efforts.  No war council was scheduled for today as the Inquisitor and Josephine were spending most of the day with Gaspard and the Empress to prepare for the true negotiations.  But likely Josephine would want to meet with Cullen to go over his requirements for the evening again, and at some point, Iron Bull would come looking for him to spar.  If he were lucky, he'd have an hour to himself, maybe two, once the day got underway. 

            As he dressed, he idly wondered if he'd see the Inquisitor today.  They'd parted abruptly last night; moments after they'd composed themselves enough to step out of the library, Leliana had appeared to discuss some news out of the servants' quarters.  Talia had given him an apologetic glance over her shoulder as she'd been ushered away, and though Cullen had caught glimpses of her in the remaining hour of the ball, he hadn't received the opportunity to speak to her. 

            The thought of what he might say made his already pounding headache worsen.  What could he say, or she for that matter, that would change anything? 

            He gave up that line of thought, rubbing his hand over his forehead.  It wouldn't do to dwell on impossibilities so early in the morning. 

            Forgoing his armor, he went in search of the reports from the night before.  Perhaps he could get some breakfast brought to his room, though his stomach still rolled from his dreams.  Tea, then.  Surely that little piece of kindness would help. 

\---

            Hours later, Cullen still hadn't found time to eat anything.  He was mired in reports, trying to make sense of the comings and goings of the Orlesian nobility that his lieutenants had been tracking.  None of it seemed overly relevant to identifying the assassin and his affiliations inside Halamshiral, and some of it was straight up useless, like one noble who had vanished early in the evening only to return with a missing boot later in the night.  Why in Thedas had his men felt the need to report this? 

            He scrubbed a hand over his stubble, stifling a yawn.  His meeting with Leliana wasn't for a few hours still, thank the Maker, but he had to have this figured out by then.  And he needed to sleep, if his heavy eyelids were any indication; he knew from experience that sleep deprivation brought anything lingering in his memories to the surface, and the Inquisition couldn't afford that tonight. 

            Someone knocked, and Cullen tried to straighten himself up in case it was their host.   It wouldn't do for Gaspard to see the Commander of the Inquisition nearly asleep at his desk.   "Come in," he called, his voice echoing around his guest room.

            An elven servant stepped inside, closing the door behind her, and Cullen was relieved to see Sera's messy blonde hair.  "Hey Cully-Wully," she said cheerfully as she brought a tea tray over to the table where he was working. 

            "Sera, how are you," Cullen replied.  Something about the elf keeping an eye on him made him feel better.  She might be a crazy one, but she was sincere in her friendships, and that was more than he could often count on. 

            "Weird shite happenin' here, but otherwise fine," she told him as she fiddled with the teacups.  Passing him one, she flashed him a smile.  "But I got your favorites 'ere, so no worries."  Sure enough, the tea was the same King's Blend that Talia had brought with them. 

            Cullen accepted it, remembering as he did that he hadn't seen Sera since that first night in Orlais.  "Thank you.  And thank you for your help with the cookies, too," he told her.  "I believe the Inquisitor enjoyed them." 

            "Anything for the Quizzie," Sera chirped.  She poured herself a cup of tea and hopped onto the table to drink, crossing her legs under her.  "Brought you some too."  She gestured at the tray. 

            "That's kind of you."  He inspected the tray, surprised to find not only the same cookies Sera had prepped for Talia but also a small tincture of elfroot.  "What's this for?" 

            Sera looked at him over her cup.  "Quizzie said you had a headache this morning," she replied by way of explanation, and Cullen's brow furrowed. 

            "How did she…"  He hadn't seen the Inquisitor that morning, and he didn't expect to until the ball that night.  Sera shrugged. 

            "Dunno.  She likes you though, so there's 'at." 

            Despite the ache that spiked through his chest, Cullen gave the elf a small, crooked smile.  "She does, does she," he replied quietly, sipping his own tea.  Their kiss from the night before flashed through his mind, how warm her mouth was meeting his and the feel of her body under his hands.  He could see her face as she ripped her mask off as clearly as if she were standing before him now, and for just a moment, he wished himself back there again. 

            If only. 

            "Course she does."  Sera laughed as though this were obvious.  "Always doing nice stuff for you.  It wears her out though, that marriage of yours." 

            Cullen looked up sharply at this.  He expected that Talia had discussed his impending nuptials with some members of the Inquisition, and of course he knew she'd complained and railed about it to Cassandra and Dorian, but Sera?  "What do you mean?" 

            Sera lowered her cup slowly, looking more thoughtful than Cullen had ever seen her.  "She told you, yeah?  How she loves you?"  Cullen choked on his tea, and she hopped off the table to pound him on the back.  "Guess not." 

            When he'd recovered his breath, Cullen looked up to find the elf studying him.  "You love her too, yeah?"  He nodded, unwilling -- or unable -- to deny it.  "Then take care of her.  Too much snootiness here, she needs people." 

            He tried to smile.  "I'm trying, Sera. I just… don't know how." 

            With a glance around the room, Sera cocked her head at him.  "Looks to me like you're doin' a decent enough job."  He followed her gaze, lighting on the cookies and the pile of fabric on one side of his bed.  It was the remains of the wrapping around his mask last night; he'd been unable to throw it away, drawn to anything that she'd had a part in. 

            With a sigh, Cullen reached for a cookie.  "Thank you," he said, lifting his cup to her in a small toast.  She giggled. 

            "I got to go 'fore anyone misses me," she said, dropping her cup to the tray and skipping toward the door.  "Don't forget that Bull wants to spar.  Eleventh bell!" 

            He watched her go, turning her words over in his mind.  Talia loved him, or so Sera had interpreted it.  She cared, that was evident enough in the elfroot, the tea.  They had to protect themselves, of course, but still:  She cared. 

            There must be something else he could do to show his support of her, some way he could demonstrate how much he worried and cared about her even when he could not be with her. Perhaps he could give her something?  She loved books; maybe he had something in his collection she would like.  Or that necklace around her neck last night -- he'd never seen her wear its like, the Inquisition heraldry resting against her skin.  Perhaps she'd like something similar, maybe her family crest? 

            His heart sank as he pondered his options.  Jewelry was far too intimate a gift from a friend, and Talia hadn't much contact or closeness with her family, certainly not enough to warrant such a gift. 

            He wondered if she'd tell her Marcher husband her family history, and his heart sank further.    It was foolish to think he'd be the only protector of her secrets.  But she cared, and Andraste 's sword, Cullen would find a way to show he did too. 

            The half-past bell rang, rousing him from his thoughts.  Bull would be waiting in the yard soon, but he still had a few reports to read before he could meet him with a clear conscience.  Refilling his cup, he inhaled its familiar scent and got back to work. 

\---

            "Commander!"  Cullen spun at the sound of his title only to find himself lying flat on his back, staring at the sky above Gaspard's estate.  The impact knocked the breath from his lungs, leaving him heaving as Bull's horns and grinning face slowly came into view. 

            "Shouldn't have turned, Commander," the qunari said with a shrug before he lowered an enormous hand to help him up. 

            "Bull, is he okay," the first voice called, and from his incapacitated position on the ground, Cullen recognized it as the Inquisitor's.  He sucked in a deep breath and clasped Bull's hand, bracing himself as the qunari yanked him upright. 

            "I'm fine," he wheezed, aware of how unconvincing he sounded.  Still bent at the waist, he tried to catch his breath.   The chance to talk to Talia, however unexpected, made both anxiety and happiness flutter in his stomach.   She was supposed to be in negotiation preparations all day; what had changed?  Had she, like he, been unable to banish the memory of their kiss from her mind?  Was she searching him out to steal him away, that little piece of calm in the midst of the storm around them? 

            He caught Bull studying them both, his eye flicking between their faces, and quickly turned his attention to his boots so he wouldn't give anything away.  No one could find out -- the risk was far too great, no matter how carefully someone else might guard their secret. 

            When he looked up again, both Bull and the Inquisitor were staring at him.  One of them must has asked him something, and he hadn't heard it.  "Pardon?" 

            The corner of Talia's mouth quirked up.  "I was looking for you in your guest room," she said calmly, and his heart leapt.  Luckily his face was already red from exertion so his furious blush didn't give him away. 

            "What would you have of me?" he asked.  He sounded stiff even to his own ears, and he caught the barest tightening of the skin around her eyes at his tone. 

            "Josephine called for a council meeting," she replied. 

            "Oh, um… of course," he said quickly, his heart sinking.  That certainly wasn't what he'd expected, nor hoped for, but he sheathed his sword anyway.  "Shall I change before?"  His tunic was clinging to him with sweat, its odor ripe even to him. 

            The Inquisitor shook her head.  "It won't take long.  We have to head back to negotiations after lunch, Josephine just wanted to debrief quickly." 

            Cullen nodded, running his hand over his hair in an attempt to calm it.  Sweat was making it curl; he'd need to bathe, and soon, so he could style it for the ball that evening.  In front of him, the Inquisitor nodded once at Bull before she turned back to the house. 

            "Tomorrow, Bull?"  The qunari grinned. 

            "I was hoping you'd say that."  He shouldered that giant axe and headed in the direction of the blacksmith. 

            Cullen watched him go for a moment while he gathered his thoughts.  Could it be possible that this meeting was only a ruse so he and Talia could be alone for a moment?  Few others had permission to enter their council chamber, even their host -- a moment of privacy might be had there. 

            But from how she had already vanished into the house, Cullen wasn't so sure.  He jogged to catch up with her, his boots crunching on the gravel of the courtyard, and found her waiting in the doorway for him.  As soon as he joined her, she turned once again and led the way to their meeting. 

            He waited to speak until they'd passed some of Gaspard's household so as to avoid being overheard.  "Inquisitor, I thought we might… discuss the events from last night."  Try as he might, he couldn't keep the hopeful note out of his voice. 

            Talia did not turn to glance at him, her eyes instead fixed ahead.  "That's a good idea, Commander," she replied.  "What kinds of activities did your lieutenants report?" 

            Cullen hesitated.  He had not been referring to his men; she must have known that.  "Perhaps… that would be better, uh, discussed… at the meeting," he suggested. "Away from… prying eyes."  He tried to gauge her reaction to his last words, wishing that he were suave and casual, that flirting came naturally to him when it most certainly did not.  Everything always tumbled from him in a rush if he spoke plainly, and here, as he attempted to figure out how she felt about the night before, he couldn't put the words together to actually ask. 

            More than anything, he wanted to kiss her again, if he could. 

            "Understood," she said, nodding thoughtfully.  She still had not turned to look at him, and when she didn't speak, Cullen grew anxious. 

            "I was thinking… of a more, um, personal matter," he murmured, but he could hear his voice stuttering over his words. 

            Now Talia did glance at him, her brows knitted with concern.  "What did you have in mind?"  She asked, though she must have known. 

            Cullen watched her closely for some indication that she understood what he couldn't bring himself to say.  The night before, he'd seen no cracks until she flung herself at him, and just like then, he could see no suggestion of her true feelings now.  But she seemed colder somehow, more removed from him, as though she genuinely didn't know what he was referring to.  As though last night, and the months of friendship and flirting before that, had never happened. 

            For the first time, Cullen wondered if perhaps the lyrium had taken over -- he'd lost his mind somehow, started hallucinating without noticing, and imagined everything between them.  His body went cold at the thought. 

            He had to know that Talia, his Talia, was in there somewhere, and his hand shot out to grasp her upper arm.  "Talia, I --"  

            “Don’t,” she said softly, rolling her shoulder out from under his hand.  Cullen drew back sharply. 

            “What?”  His mind couldn’t catch up, and they’d barely spoken.  What had he done wrong?

            “You… I… don’t touch me,” she finally managed, answering his unspoken question. 

            His mouth fell open.  Of all the things she could have said, very little would have surprised him more. They stood in a deserted hallway now, only a few short turns from the war room but far enough from main hallway that Cullen could say with certainty that they were alone. 

            “But…”  Slowly he moved his hand again, ignoring her request to brush his thumb along her jaw, his touch so light he barely felt the softness of her skin.  "Talia, please… what's going on?"  He wouldn't, _couldn't_ , call her Inquisitor, not now when cold doubt made it hurt to breathe.

            She shifted her weight, bringing her the tiniest bit closer.  His thumb traced up her cheek until his fingertips brushed her throat, and he felt more than saw her swallow hard.  Her expression was blank, innocent, but he could see the guard up in her eyes and the tension in the lines around her mouth. 

            "We can’t, Cullen," she whispered, her lips barely moving.  "I… I want to, but… I’m sorry.”  She leaned into his palm as she spoke, his fingertips sliding into her hair.  He didn't move despite his instincts screaming at him to kiss her silent, and the realization struck him with all the weight of the Winter Palace. 

            She wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened.  That they'd never kissed, that Cullen had never apologized for how foolish he'd been so many months before.  That they'd never held each other close as they wished for a future that could never be. 

            _Andraste preserve me,_ he prayed as he stared at her, hope withering in his chest.  His stomach dropped out, leaving him hollow as the fracture in his heart widened with the impossibility before him.  _I am not strong enough for this._

            But from the shadows along the hallway, her fingers rose to touch his free hand.  He looked down quickly before his eyes sprang back to her face; her expression hadn't changed, but he could see the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.  As they stood in silence, her fingertips ran over his bare hand, brushing along the joints and nails and calluses as though memorizing his skin. 

            “The world wants too much from us,” she whispered, a frown creasing her mouth.  “And I…”  She looked away, and her hand dropped from his.  “I want _you_ , not just something stolen before it can start.” 

            He ached to lean in and kiss her, his hand compulsively tightening where it still lay pressed against her cheek.  “I don’t want this to end,” he said quietly. 

            “We can’t,” she repeated, her voice breaking.  “There can’t be anything here to end.”  With a last longing look, he dropped his hand from her cheek.  He swallowed hard, audibly, and straightened himself to his full height.

            "I understand, Inquisitor," he said carefully, finally, and for just a split second she squeezed his hand before her touch slipped away again. 

            They had to protect themselves, in this place above all others, and it hurt her just as much as it hurt him.  It was the sign he'd wanted, needed, and suddenly he found himself wishing he'd never said anything if only to avoid causing her such pain.  He could have lived with it forever, knowing he could never have her, but this was more than he could bear. 

            "I'm glad, Commander," she replied, the same toneless voice she'd been using before.  He could hear everything hiding under her words -- how very unhappy she was, how much she wanted to reach out to him, and Sera's words from this morning echoed through his head.  _"She told you, yeah? How she loves you?"_

            "I am sorry."  The words slipped out before he could stop them, knowing they must hurt her as much as they hurt him.  "I didn't mean to ruin things." 

            Talia had already started down the hallway again, but at his voice she froze.  He could see her face in profile as she half-turned back to him.  "You haven't ruined anything, Commander," she said, her words echoing.  "We are friends, are we not?" 

            "Of course," he said, bobbing his head in tired understanding.  Of course they were friends, nothing more.  That moment lived and died last night, without nothing surviving to threaten the Inquisition or anything else.  "Of course."    

            Leliana and Josephine were waiting for them in their make-shift war room.  The negotiations were due to start up again in only a few minutes, which would require Josephine and Talia both to attend once again, but they needed to review their notes from the night before.  Leliana's spies had uncovered little of use, though the whisperings around Briala were far more scandalous than any of them had suspected.  And while Cullen's men were less organized than he'd hoped, they had found evidence of mercenaries moving through Halamshiral, which was cause for concern as the balls went on. 

            Quick discussion decided that Cullen would increase the Inquisition's military presence throughout the Winter Palace, though they would remain in the dress of nobles to avoid alerting anyone.  Leliana asked that she be allowed to increase her people's access to the building as well; apparently, someone she'd known years before in her travels with the Ferelden King had resurfaced here and provided her with some vital information that she wanted to investigate.  Josephine agreed to both requests without hesitation; she was visibly nervous that they hadn't located the assassin yet, despite the fact that they had only been there two days. 

            "We''ll find them, Josie," Leliana tried to sooth.  The Inquisitor, however, stayed quiet. 

            "I suppose," the Ambassador replied.  Cullen snorted. 

            "There is no supposing about it, Lady Josephine," he told her. 

            Josephine gave him a look.  "We have more to worry about that just that, Commander," she answered.  "Your first ball was a success, but this night's task is more difficult."  Cullen bit back a smart  response and merely nodded, his mouth pressed in a thin line. 

            "I'm aware of my responsibilities," he ground out.  "Last night was the dog show, and now I stand at attention, the Templar in the Circle once more."  It was a tactic Josephine had hailed as the perfect opportunity: Cullen simply had to stand there and do nothing all night.  He couldn't forget the proud tone she'd used to inform him, just as he couldn't forget all those nights at parade rest in Kinloch Hold, standing guard over a population he once believed less than human. 

            Josephine looked scandalized, oblivious to how much the mere thought of the Circle flooded Cullen with fear, his headache suddenly pounding again.   "It is so much more than that, Commander," she insisted, but the Inquisitor interrupted her. 

            "Is there any reason I must be here for this, Josephine?"  Cullen couldn't halt the betrayal that crossed his face, and when she glanced at him, he saw the shock that she tried to hide when she saw it.  After all the help and support she'd offered the last two nights, she'd abandon him now? First she'd helped him recover from his panic attack in the dining room, and then reminded him that he knew at least one face behind the masks, but now, when he must stand and let the memories circle him without response, she would leave. 

            "I do not see any, Inquisitor," the Ambassador said politely.  "Perhaps you should take a minute to eat before we return." 

            The Inquisitor nodded, avoiding Cullen's eyes, and left.  He fought not to stare after her. 

            "As I was saying, Commander," Josephine resumed, launching into a detailed explanation of how Cullen's behavior tonight was supposed to indicate his dedication to Orlais as well as his devotion to his intended.  But despite how he tried to listen -- and how his Fereldan pride riled up at the thought of dedicating anything other than a rude gesture to Orlais -- he couldn't shake the isolation that had settled over him.  He was alone in this now, just like he'd been when he said yes what felt like a lifetime before. 

            Josephine's voice broke through his fog.  "We have, however, arranged that though you cannot speak to anyone else, you are permitted to engage Inquisition members in conversation." 

            That got his attention.  "Maker's breath, I should hope so," he grumbled, crossing his arms across his chest. 

            Josephine gave him a serious look.  "The court does not agree, Commander.  We make all of our plans in advance regardless, and they are aware of your duties to the Grand Duchess." 

            "Josephine.  I am the Commander of the Inquisition's forces, and as such, I must be allowed to speak with them." 

            She gave him a dismissive wave.  "In any case, the arrangements have been settled, it would seem in your favor, Commander.  The Inquisitor was very adamant about it today with Celene." 

            Cullen was almost too annoyed to catch her last words.  "I was… that is, this was part of the negotiations?" 

            Josephine was checking something on her writing board and did not look up at the surprised note in his voice.  "Yes.  The Inquisitor did not wish you to be isolated if circumstances might have need of you."  She wrote something down quickly before looking up.  "You are a constant part of the negotiations of course due to your marriage to Florianne.  But you've done a fine job of upholding their traditions, and I foresee no problems going forward." 

            "Of course," Cullen replied absently.  He wasn't sure he understood the Inquisitor's intentions.  She'd fought for him to be able to speak to his friends and companions tonight, risking the ire of the Empress and his fiancée in the process.  But when the moment came for her to explain it, she'd instead abandoned him to their diplomat.  Why? 

            "I have a request, Josie," Leliana asked, and Cullen started.  He'd quite forgotten she was there and now wondered how much those shrewd eyes had caught while he'd been pondering over the smoldering remains of his life.  Josephine made an inquisitive noise, and the Spymaster continued.  "I believe the Commander should carry a weapon to all remaining festivities." 

            The quill in their diplomat's hand fluttered to the table.  "You cannot be serious, Leliana," she said, her mouth hanging open. 

            Leliana did not move.  "Of course I am serious, Josie.  The court is in more danger each night we do not locate the assassin, and the Inquisitor is not always nearby should the need arise.  Someone else needs to be armed." 

            "Surely you carry a weapon." 

            "I do, but it is concealed.   An obvious weapon is a more clear threat to the assassin we seek: We are ready." 

            Josephine picked up her quill and made a show of dipping it in the ink to write again.  "I don't believe we need such a show." 

            "Leliana is right to suggest --" Cullen began, but the Spymaster waved him off. 

            "The Commander carrying his weapon is also an indication of his status in the Inquisition.  The court has been clamoring for information about his family background and position in Ferelden.  Since we have little to offer there, let us remind them of the power he wields with us."   Leliana's every word was chosen with care, and Cullen had to admire how she manipulated the idea.  While he agreed -- and felt foolish for not suggesting it in the first place -- he knew his argument would have been far less persuasive. 

            Josephine looked pensive, her lips pursed as she considered.  "We have received an overwhelming number of questions regarding your status, Commander," she began, and Leliana smiled like she'd already won. 

            "My sword is waiting in my room, Josephine," Cullen suggested.  Leliana shot him a look that would have made Corypheus pause in his tracks. 

            "That would be most offensive, Commander," Josephine exclaimed, her own expression horrified.  He looked between his colleagues.  He was no longer merely isolated; now he was confused as well. 

            "Maker's breath, why?  What stuffy Orlesian tradition is against swords?" 

            "They are quite in favor of them, but only in the correct places," Leliana replied smoothly.  Cullen felt like he'd missed something when Josephine gave her a sly sideways look.  "Is a weapon acceptable, Josephine?" 

            The diplomat made a note on her board.  "Yes.  We shall need something ornamental, perhaps with a bronze handle to match the uniforms?" 

            Leliana nodded.  "I believe I can procure an attractive one that is often used by chevaliers when on parade.  Carefully crafted, tassels to indicate its bearer's status, lighter than a true sword but no less deadly." 

            "That sounds ideal.  Perhaps we can spread the rumor that it is a gift from Orlais to the Inquisition?  Nothing confirmed of course, as we won't request it from Celene, but a rumor would be enough to spin the court gossip to our favor." 

            Cullen's gaze flew between them, listening as they destroyed the entire purpose of a weapon before his eyes.  Andraste had carried a sword, a real one; what in Thedas was wrong with him doing the same? 

            "I will have it delivered to the Commander's room," Leliana finished, and a smile spread over Josephine's face. 

            "I believe we are finished for now, then," she said.  "And I must return to the negotiations."  She started from the room, pausing briefly next to Cullen and scrutinizing his appearance.  "I know you will bathe before tonight, Commander, but for the love of the Maker, please shave." 

            He opened his mouth to protest, but she raised a hand to stop him.  "Don't argue.  You must look neat tonight."  Before he could say anything else, she was gone. 

            "I have work to do," he ground out, heading for the door as well, but Leliana's cool voice stopped him. 

            "If I may have a word, Commander?" 


	9. Chapter 9

            With a sigh, Cullen stopped with his hand on the doorknob.  "Can it wait, Leliana?  I must pass on the new instructions to my men." 

            "I'm afraid not," she replied, and he turned back to the table.  The Spymaster was walking around it, idly sifting through the various reports and documents they'd uncovered.  When she didn't speak, Cullen stepped up to the table and crossed his arms to wait. 

            Still nothing.  He cleared his throat, and only then did Leliana acknowledge his presence. 

            "I saw you and the Inquisitor last night," she said simply. 

            Adrenaline flooded his system with a rush of heat, and he fidgeted briefly, trying to appear calm.  She didn't mean the kiss, that singular moment that even now absorbed his guilty thoughts;  she couldn't have seen that.  They'd been alone, Cullen was certain.  He took a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he wracked his brain for what else he could have done to set Leliana after him. 

            The trellis! Blast, he'd warned the Inquisitor that someone would see them going up the trellis into the Grand Library!  Undoubtedly some Orlesian noble had complained about it to Josephine, or some servant had seen it and informed Leliana.  He'd known that was a bad idea. 

            "I apologize, Leliana," he began, still scratching the back of his neck.  "I warned her that someone would see us climbing in the gardens, but she insisted it was nothing to be concerned over."  The Spymaster hadn't spoken, that same calm, blank expression on her face, so he continued.  "Frankly I had little choice in the matter.  The Inquisitor was not to be deterred." 

            Opposite him, Leliana nodded thoughtfully.  Encouraged, Cullen pushed on.  "Surely it was worth it, given the information we obtained about relations between Gaspard and Celene."  

            "That venture was of course worth the risks you took," Leliana said finally, still playing with the reports at her fingertips.  "But I saw the kiss." 

            Cullen's mind went blank.  No.  He couldn't have heard that correctly.  It wasn't possible.  No, he must have heard wrong, he had been certain they were alone, he must have --

            "You don't deny it," Leliana said, her tone mildly surprised.  She moved further around the table. "I admit, I am surprised." 

            "Leliana --" Cullen began, though he was unsure of what he was going to say.  He hadn't had time to deny it, the Spymaster moving with such speed that he'd been too overwhelmed trying to put together the accusation to bother with denials.  Maker, what had he done?

            "I expected something of the sort," she continued, ignoring his fumbling attempts to speak.  "I have watched the two of you dance around each other for months."  She looked up, catching Cullen's eyes with that sharp stare, and her voice grew colder as she spoke.  "I saw how she clung to you.  I watched as you kissed her without hesitation, as she ripped your mask off, as both of you gave in." 

            She was very close to him now, those pale eyes piercing.  "I saw that neither of you gave a moment's thought to what you were putting at risk."  Cullen found he could not break their eye contact, and it was only then that he recognized the talent of the Inquisition's Spymaster.  She not only saw; she _understood_. 

            When he didn't say anything, all his self-control focused on not giving any ground to her advances, she leaned closer.  "Why here," she asked quietly, that same hardness in her voice. "Why now?" 

            Cullen swallowed, his hands shaking.  "As I said," he forced out, willing his voice to stay steady.  "I had little choice in the matter." 

            One eyebrow rose.  "I doubt that very much." 

            He blushed, and suddenly breaking her gaze was simple.  The second he no longer met her eyes, Leliana stepped back, almost casually returning to the reports on the table. 

            "You had months at Skyhold.  You could have had her at any time, any place.  No one cares who the Inquisitor sleeps with, provided she does it at home," she said conversationally.  Cullen swallowed down his discomfort.  To hear her talk about the Inquisitor's private choices so casually… it was nauseating.  "But here," her gaze snapped to his, and he flinched.  "Here every eye in the court is on you, and on her.  The Inquisition can afford no mistakes."    

            It was too much.  To hear that this one tiny thing he'd taken for himself, perhaps the first thing in his adult life he'd truly wanted, was a mistake… that old anger flooded him, pushed him forward into Leliana's space, and he found himself towering over her, that old intimidation tactic that had worked for years against the mages in his care. 

            "What would you have me do?"  He growled, his hands balled in shaking fists at his sides.  Leliana met his furious gaze without hesitation, her own expression icy.  "I would sacrifice my life to the Inquisition's cause, and yet this you must take from me? Am I to have nothing?" 

            "You are to do what we all must," Leliana snapped.  "To put your life in the Inquisition's hands, to do your duty when the world succumbs to chaos.  We are to be above reproach, especially now." 

            He felt something deflate inside his chest, some bubble of hope he'd been keeping for himself, and he closed his eyes.  "Will you tell Josephine?" 

            Before him, Leliana stepped back.  "No.  There is no reason to unless your behavior puts us at further risk.  But my people will be watching.  We must protect the alliance with Orlais." 

            Cullen blinked at her.  "There is no need for anyone to follow me.  I will not go near her again."  It was a promise he was not sure he would be able to keep, but the idea of Leliana's spies tracking his every move made him sick. 

            She scoffed at him.  "There is every need.  You have proven yourself unreliable in this matter.  I assumed when you turned the Inquisitor down originally that you would break eventually, and you have proven me correct.  I will not see it happen again." 

            "That spymaster bullshit is entirely unnecessary, as I have said," he nearly shouted.  "It's an invasion of my privacy, and I will not have it!" 

            "What privacy, Commander?"  She asked in reply, her voice still calm even though he could hear the frustration that hid beneath.  "That is the not the world we are in.  There is no such thing in Orlais, and you must get used to that now, before you marry Florianne."  

            He recoiled, backing up toward the wall.  The room spun around him, nausea still rising in his gut, and he rubbed his forehead in an attempt to alleviate the headache that had come roaring back.  "How can I still marry her?"  It came out as a whisper, more to himself than to her, but still Leliana answered. 

            "Nothing has changed, Cullen." 

            "Everything has," he replied, the words catching in his throat.  He leaned against the wall, the stone cool through his sweat-soaked shirt.  "And I… No.  I cannot." 

            He heard her footsteps echo across the room until they stopped before him, but he did not open his eyes.  "You can, and you will," she said softly, the coldness replaced by something more brittle.  "The Inquisition cannot fail.  We cannot hand Orlais to Corypheus on a platter, and you know it as well as I.  Perhaps better, if our loses at Adamant meant anything to you." 

            His eyes popped open, the anger rushing back in.  "Of course they mean something, Leliana.  It's despicable to suggest otherwise." 

            She gave a noncommittal shrug.  "Then do not throw their sacrifice away.  Even for love." 

            "But… I don't know how to…" 

            "Be stronger, Cullen." 

            His prayer just an hour before came back to him, and as he slid down the wall, he found it again on his lips.  "I am not strong enough for this." 

            Leliana crouched next to him, and he felt her hand rest on his knee in a surprising gesture of sympathy.  "I understand how hard it is, Cullen," she said, and he was surprised to hear the softness in her voice.  The Leliana he knew was so calculating that he often forgot the Chantry Sister that hid beneath, still compassionate and caring underneath the years that had worn her hard and bitter. 

            "The Inquisitor is my friend," she continued gently.  "And I do not want to see her hurt.  Nor do I want that for you.  But the Inquisition is bigger than any of our desires, and we cannot fail it." 

            It was the same reasoning he'd given Cassandra the night before, the same thing he'd explained to Dorian weeks before, the same responsibilities that had motivated him to agree to the arranged marriage in the first place.  He was a servant of the Inquisition first, and that must guide his every choice.  He could not fight his way out, nor could he simply change his mind.  He must submit, like always, and serve, always serve, until the end of his days. 

            The sheer weight of consequence sank over him, and he dropped his head into his hands, barely conscious of the Spymaster still beside him. All his life, he'd never had anything he could truly call his own.  His armor, his bedclothes, his loyalty, everything had belonged to the Templars -- even his life, should it come to that, and it very nearly had. 

            And now, though he'd left the peace of sleep behind with the Order, he'd thought he was free.  The Inquisition had been the opportunity to regain the control he'd so completely lost.  In some ways, he had;  he had possessions now, had friends where before he'd had only colleagues.  He'd even given up lyrium, that last vestige of the Order, the chain he needed to throw off to truly leave that life behind. 

            But he'd stayed in servitude, albeit to a master he'd chosen.  The Inquisition had called, and he had answered, and his life, as always, was forfeit. 

            It was with great effort that he swallowed everything down, the nausea and the anger, and his heart sank with them.  Slowly he ran his hands over his hair and looked up to meet the Spymaster's gaze.  "I will not put the Inquistion at risk, Leliana," he said carefully, though his heart lurched in his chest.  "I promise." 

            She removed her hand from his knee and stood up.  "I am glad to hear it, Commander," she answered.  With a nod of acknowledgment, she started to leave.  "I will have my people deliver the sword for tonight within the hour."  The Sister gave no other indication of her approval or concern; instead she pulled the cloak of the Nightingale around her and was gone, a shadow amidst smoke. 

            Cullen was left sitting on the floor of their makeshift war room, his shirt still clinging to his skin and his hair curling above his head, everything out of control and nothing he could do to stop it. 

\---

            The afternoon passed slowly, everything hazy and far-removed as he replayed the conversation with Leliana over and over in his head.  He'd given up.  Everything he wanted, the chance to finally have something that was his, to kiss Talia again, he'd given everything up to serve the Inquisition.  Some dormant part of him screamed that this was unfair, that he didn't deserve the life he'd been given, but he pushed it aside as he'd been doing since Kinloch Hold.  And just like then, numbness crept over him, and before long, he'd built back up the shield that rested over his heart.   

            All his tasks accomplished, Cullen retired to his room to rest, but sleep wouldn't come easily.  When it finally did, a maze of bookshelves greeted him, with Talia's voice searching him out and wraiths that looked like Leliana but morphed as soon as he stepped close waiting around every turn.  There was no rest to be found, and like that morning, Cullen was almost grateful when he woke and the Winter Palace awaited him. 

            He dressed slowly.  The uniform that had so bothered him two days before meant nothing now, its wide shoulders and high boots serving the function they were designed for and little else.  Shaving was a challenge; the razor shook in his too-tight grip, and he nicked himself quite badly along one cheekbone.  But the mask would hide it, the mask that had brought him to the point of panic only the night before, and he didn't hesitate to set it against his face.  There was no point in fighting, and he swept its fabric wrappings from his bed without a second thought. 

            Sera popped in just as he was combing his hair, the Inquisitor's make-up in her hands.  She covered the yellowing bruise on Cullen's jaw without explanation, but he knew she wouldn't be there unless Talia was no longer allowed to visit him.  Leliana must have confronted her.  He hoped she'd been kinder to her than she had to him -- he had been the one to instigate the kiss, and so he should be the one hurting, not her, never her.  He would protect her from all of it if he could, but when Sera pronounced him ready without once teasing or offering her special brand of lopsided advice, he knew there was little chance of that.  If even Sera was feeling down, Leliana must have gotten to everyone. 

            He climbed into the carriage to the Winter Palace without thinking to offer his assistance to anyone else.  Just hours before, the prospect of spending the night in parade rest had terrified him, but no longer.  Instead, he welcomed the opportunity to stand aside and do nothing, to stare and decline all invitations and stew in his frustration and anger.  He would fulfill his duty, as was his job and position, and that should make it easy. 

            But the realities of the evening proved different than what he hoped for; instead of that disconnect he'd felt all afternoon, stepping into the ball made his entire world zoom in until he could barely breath.  It was too much, too tight, his lack of control suddenly suffocating, and Josephine had to send him back outside to the courtyard before he could find an out of the way place to stake his claim that night. 

            He stumbled through the courtyard, barely seeing anything in his hurry from the ballroom.  He wished he could walk into any of the numerous locked doors around him and just fade away, forget all this, and go home.  Skyhold called to him across the Frostbacks, the sanctuary of his office and the peace of that tiny chapel he so often visited when the nightmares wouldn't cease.  What he would give to be there now instead of wandering the Winter Palace gardens trying to breathe deeply, and failing. 

            His eyes glazed over the masks around him as he pushed his way through a small knot of nobles.  Just beyond them, an unoccupied alcove beckoned, and he ducked inside.  Quickly he untied his mask, feeling it stick to his skin as he tried to remove it, and then it fell into his hands,  the corner crusted with blood from the cut on his cheek.  He studied it intently, willing the ground to stop spinning.  He could get himself back under control if only everything would stop spinning. 

            Cullen had no idea how long he stayed there, staring at the stitching of his boots.  His breathing calmed gradually, the sweat on his skin drying as his heart rate slowed.  Soon someone would miss him, of that he had no doubts.  But he couldn't face the court just yet, not until he knew he wasn't going to have an episode in front of them.  That nervous fluttering in his chest hadn't abated, and neither had his headache. 

            Crunching footsteps alerted him to someone approaching.  He forced himself upright, fumbling with the mask in his hands.  _Please don't be the Inquisitor_ , he thought even as his heart leapt at the idea. 

            But Cassandra turned the corner, his title dying on her lips as she found him.  "I've been looking for you," she said, hesitating just outside the alcove.  "Are you all right?" 

            Cullen bobbed his head, aware of how unconvincing the gesture looked when he could feel the blood oozing down one cheek.  Cassandra saw it and stepped closer. 

            "You're bleeding," she told him, and he nodded again.  "Shaving?" 

            "Yes," he croaked, his voice raspy with disuse and tension.  "Josephine insisted." 

            She plucked a handkerchief from her pocket.  "Here," she said, passing it to him.  "You could have asked for help." 

            Cullen gave a dry chuckle.  "And admit I cannot care for myself?"  He dabbed at the cut, ignoring how it stung.  Pain was good; pain was real, grounding him here in this reality, and he put pressure on it to let it clot again. 

            "That's not what I meant, Cullen," Cassandra said as she took the mask from his other hand.  Carefully she wiped at the blood crusted on it until the gold finish shone again.  But she did not hand it back when she finished; instead, she turned it over in her hands, studying its simple design.  "The Inquisitor got this for you, did she not?" 

            "She did," Cullen replied stiffly.  He didn't want to talk about the Inquisitor, not now. 

            "I am sorry, for what I said yesterday," Cassandra said after a pause, and Cullen closed his eyes briefly at the memory of their fight.  He'd fought so hard against his feelings, and hearing Cassandra insist that they were there had brought all his fear and longing to the surface.  He'd behaved atrociously, and he could only blame himself. 

            "No, I'm the one who should apologize," he told her, and he thought he saw a tiny smile flicker across her face.  "I am sorry for how I acted.  You were… right, to suggest that I had someone to think of." 

            She accepted the handkerchief when he handed it back, the cut clotted over.  "I am aware," she said, ever the graceless victor.  "But I should not have pushed.  I understand the situation you are in, after all." 

            They were silent for a moment, Cassandra still playing with his mask.  "I wanted the romantic ending," she admitted suddenly, her gaze trained on the stone floor. 

            Cullen looked up.  "What do you mean?" 

            She smiled even though she wouldn't meet his eyes.  "The Inquisitor and the Commander.  It's rather beautiful -- love in the midst of war, overcoming the duties that try to keep them apart, all the best romantic stories have that." 

            He ground his teeth in an attempt to keep his eyes from burning.  "I doubt one of the main characters marries someone else in those books, Cassandra," he reminded her.  "They always have happy endings." 

            That made her look up, something like pity on her face.  "Not always, Commander," she said softly, and he nodded his understanding.  No matter how he wanted it, this one certainly couldn't. 

            "Everything will be fine, Seeker," he told her, articulating what he couldn't himself accept. 

            To his surprise, she laughed.  "I believe I am supposed to be telling you that," she said, and for the first time in hours, Cullen felt a smile try to break free of his stern expression.    He was forever grateful for his camaraderie with Cassandra; the opportunity to start his life over had morphed over time into an genuine friendship, and though he might not have much he could count on, she was always there. 

            "I should go inside," he ventured, and she nodded.

            "I know.  Josephine sent me, she said you were having some kind of problem."  The Seeker was eyeing him closely.  "The court bothers you." 

            "Yes," he said simply.  He could not name it, would not give Orlais that power over him.  "But it is… better, now." 

            "Have you seen the Inquisitor yet tonight?" 

            He gave her a sharp look.  "No, why?" 

            Cassandra gestured for him to turn around so she could help him put the mask back on.  "She has always made your flashbacks easier," she said, and Cullen swallowed.  It was true; the lowest points of his withdrawal had very nearly killed him, so consumed with his past was his mind.  But Talia had stayed by his side through the worst of it, talking him through fevered deliriums and giving him something real to hold on to. 

            Cassandra was reminding him of this. 

            "I admit, I looked for her often last night to keep from slipping," he replied softly, holding the mask to his face.  Cassandra tied it deftly and stepped back. 

            "She is in a silver dress tonight, green accents.  Look for her again." 

            "I will," he said, offering her his arm as he turned to face the gardens again.  To his surprise, he felt better.  A little of the numbness had abated, leaving him fresher and more himself than he'd been after talking with Leliana.  Perhaps, with a little time, he'd be able to hold himself together just as he had at Skyhold after he'd said yes to this arrangement: aware and accepting of his duty, and willing to leave himself behind to answer the Inquisition's call.  "Shall we go in?" 

            Cassandra tucked her hand into his elbow as they crossed the gardens.  Apparently his silent, stationary post for the evening was well known, for no fewer than a dozen nobles attempted to detain him with inane conversations he knew were meant to distract him from his 'dedication' to Orlais.  But they made it inside without incident, even if Cassandra did threaten the nobles under her breath the whole journey. 

            "I must go find the Inquisitor," she told him as soon as they'd crossed the threshold, and he tried to smile. 

            "Keep her safe tonight, Cassandra," he requested as he dropped her hand.

            She was already on her way after their leader.  "I will.  And Cullen…" 

            He hesitated on his way through the ballroom doors, turning back just enough to see Cassandra's face tinged with sadness under her dark eyes.  "I wish things were different, for the two of you," she said quietly, and the misery in her voice made his chest tight. 

            "As do I," he replied before he slipped through the door. 

            He tried to move inconspicuously, but to no avail; the nobles here lurked like vultures awaiting a meal.  The peaceful spot he'd haunted the night before was instead occupied by the same giggling nobleman who had grabbed his arse, and he ducked behind a potted plant to avoid being seen.  Then, a few minutes later, he dodged an older noblewoman intent on claiming him in favor of vanishing into the Hall of Heroes and hoping against hope that someone would rescue him. 

            Of course, no one did, and after Josephine sauntered by to remind him that him being visible was an essential part of the night's ritual, he gave up.  No corner of the ballroom offered true safety, so instead he planted his back against the middle of the wall and just stood, arms behind his back and chin steady.  Parade rest, that posture he so loathed, but he bore it now thinking of how badly the Inquisition needed him. 

            It was not, perhaps, the best line of thinking to truly distract him.  Thinking of the Inquisition inevitably led to thinking of the Inquisitor herself, much as he tried to deny it.    He pushed the thought of her aside only to suddenly spot her across the ballroom, a glint of silver moving among gold.  Jealousy over her Starkhaven arrangement flooded over him as he watched her laugh and flirt with some masked noble, and that knot of anxiety tightened in his chest. 

            How had it come to this?  He knew the answer, of course; he could trace every decision and moment that had led to this one, but it didn't stop the frantic speculation that threatened to consume him.  His limbs felt too heavy as he watched her, as though the urge to move was dancing through his nerves but couldn’t quite overcome the inertia of Josephine and Leliana and the Inquisition itself as they pulled him down. 

            So instead he stared.  His eyes followed her through his mask, over the heads of nobles who tried to engage him only to be turned away by his cold refusal to speak.   Some removed part of his mind knew Josephine would be pleased at how faithfully he remained there, but he knew it was nothing of the sort -- just watching, and wishing, and trying not to wish nor to hope until his eyes glazed over.  Exhaustion engulfed him like a warm blanket, making him foggy and replacing the storm he couldn't quite quell in his chest.  Years of training were all that kept him upright as he dozed, the quietness numbness of his mind finally letting him slip toward sleep. 

            He was only roused by Dorian sauntering past, his body tense despite the façade of nonchalance he oozed.  "Look alive, Commander," the mage murmured under his breath, and Cullen's eyes snapped open, his head jerking to attention just as Josephine appeared beside him. 

            "We have a situation developing, Commander," she said quietly, her tone soothing despite how quickly her head turned as she glanced around.  "Palace gardens, through the servants' wing." 

            His gaze followed Dorian even though he did not yet move.  "Are you sure I should accompany them?  What about my duties here?" 

            "Leliana and I will cover your absence," she answered, her voice still soft.  Evidently she was trying not to alarm the nobles chatting around them. 

            "But --" He didn't know why he hesitated. 

            "Just follow Dorian, Commander," she hissed, her expression tight.  One hand rose and pushed gently at his bicep.  "Go.  Now." 


	10. Chapter 10

            Magic lit up his nerves as Cullen navigated out into the gardens from the servants' quarters.  The sounds of a fight, shouting and the clash of steel, led him through the twists and turns, a beacon to guide him.  The ornamental sword Leliana had procured him hung at his side, and he thanked the Maker for its comforting weight. 

            The gardens opened into a courtyard with a fountain just ahead, the sparkle of lingering magic and dispersion spells still in the air.  Without hesitation, Cullen dropped himself over the edge of the retaining wall, not bothering to find a path down.  Bodies littered the ground, mostly elves and Venatori, but he saw an Orlesian noble with a dagger plunged in his back as he passed, still looking for the fight. 

            Then he heard someone shout "Next!" with the enthusiasm that could only be Iron Bull, and he abandoned the body.  As he turned a corner, a Venatori mage materialized beside him.  He drew without thinking, the sword cleaving through the mage's arm as he swung.  Attention drawn, the mage howled out a spell, fire mines erupting to litter the ground around them.  Cullen leapt forward, swinging his opposite fist like the shield he didn't have and catching the enemy across the jaw.  As he stumbled backward, the Commander advanced, and with another sweep of his arm, the mage fell dead. 

            The fight he'd been headed toward appeared at last.   To one side, Dorian spun and muttered as lighting poured from his staff, while nearby Talia leapt over the head of a Venatori in a wild helmet, her dagger emerging from his chest with the force of her strike.  Bull ran by chasing an archer, his crazed laughter only getting louder as the great axe he carried found a home in his enemy's flesh.  And closest to him fought Cassandra, her Chantry-perfected form never wavering even as she bashed her opponent across the face with her shield. 

            "Cullen!  Behind you!" one of them shouted, though he wasn't sure who, and he spun, barely catching the Venatori blade on the guard of his sword.  With a grunt, he pushed the man off only to catch a jab to the face and lurch backward.  The mask dug into the cut on his cheek, opening the scab once again, but he only smirked as he felt blood trickle wet on his skin.  The Venatori pup baring teeth at him might have surprised him, but he was the Commander of the Inquisition. 

            This was what he did.  

            His blade spun and slashed as he stepped into battle, the first in weeks and the only one in recent memory that he actually enjoyed.  Here his enemy thought him weak, thought him nothing more than the Inquisitor's body guard, and Cullen let him fall into the inevitable trap.  He was stronger, faster, and had years of training to put power behind his blade; this idiot had nothing, and within seconds he joined his overzealous friends on the ground. 

            More Venatori agents joined the fight, drawn by the sound of blade against flesh and never guessing it was their companions losing.  They outnumbered the Inquisition's agents here, just the five of them against easily a dozen or more opponents.  But as Dorian whipped his lightning into a storm that leapt from helmet to ridiculous helmet, and Bull screamed out all the Reaver rage he normally held back, the tide turned, and Cassandra's rallying cry pulled them all together.  When Talia sliced the throat of the last mage, leaving him gurgling in the dust even as his blood sprayed over her legs, Cullen couldn't help the pride that rose in his chest.   

            A bluish haze spread over the area as Cassandra dispelled any lingering magic, and only then did Talia relax.  He watched as a smirk spread across those perfect lips, the sarcastic comment she made about the ball being boring lost to the breeze.        Dorian made some comment back as he straightened his uniform, giving Cullen a significant look that he only just caught. 

            "Are you injured, Commander," Cassandra asked as she wiped her blade on her forearm. 

            "No, just the same cut you saw earlier," he answered, handing over his sword when she gestured for it.  She might be in her armor now, her Inquisition uniform abandoned in the quest for answers within the Winter Palace, but he surely couldn't walk back into the ball covered in blood.  "It reopened." 

            "You should have Dorian heal it," she suggested as she passed his weapon back.  With a shrug, he sheathed it.  He didn’t mind;  the cut, like the bruise on his jaw, gave him something to focus on, pain to clarify his thoughts when he no longer knew how to keep going. 

            "I can help, Commander," Dorian called from where he was healing a slash across Iron Bull's chest.  The wound didn't look deep, but the qunari would have an easier time of things if he didn't have it bleeding as he fought. 

            "I'm fine, Dorian," he answered, glancing up from fiddling with the sheath on his hip.  It didn't hang right, this ridiculous imposter sword from Orlais, but the annoyance faded as he caught the Inquisitor staring at him, her gloved hand holding her hair off her face.  She was spattered with blood, her mask gone and her gown replaced with the long rogue's coat she wore into the field.  Her scarf dangled, its green edges frayed with wear, and she still held a bloodstained dagger in her hand.  But she was frowning, something warring on her face that Cullen wouldn't place even as he felt the urge to wrap her up in his arms, so thankful was he that she was alive. 

            He recognized that feeling.  He'd experienced it many times -- the relief when she'd walked back out of the Fade at Adamant, the joy and fear as he carried her back to camp after Haven, the simple thanks he offered up to Andraste every time she walked back through the gates of Skyhold.  It was one he couldn't quite justify, the overwhelming relief that she lived tempered with the knowledge that she was not his to covet.  She still wasn't. 

            But he stared back nonetheless, not bothering to hide the relief and wanting he knew lay on his face.  If only he could go to her, comfort her, wipe the blood from her cheek and offer his congratulations on an enemy felled in some way that really mattered.  But Leliane's accented warning came back to him out of the ether: "The Inquisition cannot fail, Commander," and he broke their gaze, looking down and away as he held himself in check. 

            He'd forgotten that the mask hid all that from the Inquisitor's gaze. 

            As a distraction, Cullen busied himself sorting out his uniform.  His gloves would need washing before tomorrow night, and blood was spattered across his chest.  Most of it blended with the red of his uniform -- a calculated choice on Josephine's part, he was willing to bet -- but some had stained the gold stitching around the buttons.  Perhaps no one would notice.   Somehow the blood had missed his pants, but he'd need to send his boots for cleaning as well; they were dotted with the tell-tale marks of his storming through a battlefield, drops scattered up the backs of his calves and across the toes.  He cringed; Josephine was going to kill him. 

            "Don't worry, I won't let her," Talia said, making him jump.  She was right beside him, apparently reading his mind with her hand on his arm.  He looked quizzically at her, wondering how she'd known, but she was pulling him with her before he'd figured it out. 

            "I appreciate that," he managed as he fell into step behind her.  "Um… where are we going?"  His mind hadn't quite caught up as she led him past her companions.  This was a different Talia, not the Inquisitor who had warned him not to touch her earlier that day, but his friend once again.  He could not deny his confusion, even grateful as he was.  Dorian smirked openly as she tugged him away, even when Iron Bull elbowed him, but thankfully Cassandra had to grace to hide her smile. 

            Talia didn't answer, only checked her directions and turned quickly, this way and that, through the garden maze of the Winter Palace.  Within moments, they were overshadowed by archways covered in vines and flowers.  Though he couldn't see them, he could hear the murmurings of her companions, just far enough away that he couldn't make out their words. 

            "Talia," he began when she turned, an overgrown wall to her back.  "What's --" 

            She hardly paused as she caught his lips with hers, bruising and desperate.  Cullen couldn't stop how he gasped, how his first instinct was to lean back, but she followed him and his brain caught up.  Quickly he stepped into her, his mouth opening under the force of her lips, and plunged his hands into her hair, angling her head back as he kissed her.  Her tongue met his with all the fury that had been absent the night before, the frantic lust after a battle spurring them closer.  One hand slid from her hair to clutch at her back, his fingertips digging into her coat between the daggers there.  She took a step back, and then another, and suddenly he was pressing her against the garden wall, his weight holding her there as she pushed against him. 

            As abruptly as she'd kissed him, she stopped, instead jerking away to lean into the leaves behind her.  "Cullen, I'm so sorry," she began, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.  "After this afternoon… I didn't mean to… just wanted you to… " She trailed off, and Cullen pushed himself to standing, careful to give her space even if he couldn't bear to let his hands leave her waist. 

            "You don't have to apologize," he whispered, avoiding her eyes.  It had been a mistake.  It was always a mistake, their mutual adherence to duty always in his way.  "I…That is, if… I mean…"  He tried to find the words, but they caught in his throat, choking him.  He couldn't accept that;  he couldn't let it be a mistake. 

            Instead he ducked his head, giving her the chance to pull away as he brushed his nose against hers.  Her lips opened in anticipation as her eyes drifted shut, and when he kissed her, she arched into his touch and everything else fell away. 

            This was what he wanted.  What he _needed_ , and it didn't matter that the Inquisition waited just outside this tiny garden haven.  It would come rushing back soon enough; for this moment, he wanted her all to himself.  Talia could apologize over and over, but she kissed him back, the same struggle likely going through her head, and when her hand slid from his jaw to gather in the collar of his uniform, crushing his lips against hers, he didn't fight it.  This was the Winter Palace so prevalent in his thoughts -- the stealing away to kiss each other, the abandoning of duty for pleasure, the thrill of such a public place and not caring that they could get caught if only he could touch her. 

            It was everything that couldn't be, and he knew it. 

            He nipped her gently as he pulled back, relishing the noise she made, his hands tracing up and down the curve of her waist under that coat.  She let out a low moan as he kissed up her throat, pausing to lick and nip at her pulse hammering away under her skin.  Collapsing back against the garden wall once more, she pulled him in to meet her lips, and he didn't care, couldn't care, about anything else.  He could only keep kissing her, because soon enough he wouldn't be allowed. 

            He groaned into her, fighting to keep himself quiet even as she rolled her hips against him.  The urge to tell her he loved her nearly overwhelmed him when it came, a rising tempest in his gut as she thrust her tongue into his mouth.   Telling her would serve no purpose now, and though he felt he could give up everything, his duty, his life, even the Inquisition, to be with her, it was only the thought of how he couldn't hurt her that kept him sane.  This was his burden, her mark on his soul, and he would bear it until the edge of doom if that was what must be.

            So instead the Commander of the Inquisition kissed his Inquisitor with everything he was, losing himself in this moment where they were alone, and free, before the world fell down around them. 

            In the end, when he finally needed air more than her touch, he broke away.  Talia stared up at him, the emerald of her eyes nearly lost under her lust-blown pupils, and when he didn't speak she pushed herself to her toes and wrapped her arms around him.   For a long time, Cullen simply clutched her to him, feeling her strong arms hold him close and breathing in the scent of her sweat as he nestled his nose against her neck.  The softness of her hair teased the edges of his skin, and he realized his mask was still on, a simple reminder of the barrier between them. Some corner of his mind wished he'd thought to remove it.  But it was too late now. 

            "What are we doing?" he whispered, his voice shaking.  Her arms tightened around him briefly before she pulled back, and he leaned down to rest his forehead against hers, mask against skin.

            "I don't know, Cullen," she replied, her eyes closing.  "I don't know."  She shook her head without moving away, and he reached up to untie his mask.  He needed her to see him. 

            She caught it deftly, and his resolve crumbled under the pain on her face.  "Talia, I --" He began, but from nowhere Iron Bull shouted, "Incoming!" followed by the crackle of lightning, and their brief moment away from the world disintegrated. 

            "Stay with me," she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth before she passed his mask back to him.  Drawing her daggers, she moved past him toward the renewed fight, leaving him standing alone once more. 

            "How I wish I could," he whispered to the air before he tucked the mask away and stepped back into the fray. 

            They worked their way through the palace's Grand Apartments, sparks flying as the Inquisitor's company fought.  Venatori agents had infiltrated every corner of the apartments, or so it seemed by the time they entered yet another elaborate dining hall to find a crowd of zealots awaiting them.  Each battle offered little true challenge -- Dorian's happy shouts of "I could do this all day!" and Iron Bull's insane laughter as he turned his opponents into jelly suggested fun, nor fear, and deep down, Cullen had to wonder why Josephine had sent him with them.  He had duties to perform at the ball, and every minute he spent here at the Inquisitor's side offered Orlais a way out of their alliance. 

            Anxiety bubbled in his chest, filling him with nervous energy that was only barely quelled with each slice of his sword.  Certainly it helped, the thrill of victory and all that, but he did not miss his own trepidation about abandoning his post.  What havoc might his absence wreak, should Orlais desire the out?  And what would Leliana or, Maker forbid, Josephine do to him then? He could not win, it seemed; all he'd wanted when he was trapped in the ball was the chance to be elsewhere, and now that he was out, and free, his thoughts were consumed by what was happening inside. 

            As the Inquisitor dug through yet another vault, Iron Bull cheerfully rooting around in corpses' pockets nearby, Cullen found himself nearly twitching with apprehension.  He glanced back and forth down the hallways around them, wondering if another attacker would emerge at any moment or if they would turn the next corner into a trap.  His hand wrapped and unwrapped compulsively around the hilt of his sword as he half-heartedly prayed, not for the first time, for some surety of his steps. 

            He could hear Cassandra conversing with the Inquisitor behind him, the words muddled, and moments later, he felt a hand on his shoulder. 

            "Walk with me, Cullen," the Inquisitor said quietly. 

            He hesitated.  "Where…" 

            "We'll go back the way we came so it's safe," she assured him.  Her companions said nothing as they moved away, though Cassandra nodded at him when he glanced over his shoulder.  They understood, even if he did not. 

            Just out of earshot, she turned to face him.  "I need you to take this to Leliana," she said, and pressed an elven locket into his palm.  "I think it belonged to Briala.  She'll be able to investigate." 

            Cullen closed his hand around the jewelry.  "What about you?  Shouldn't I stay… keep you safe?" 

            The Inquisitor smiled a little sadly.  "I… don't think that's a good idea."  When Cullen opened his mouth to protest, she held up a hand.  "You're uncomfortable here, Cullen.  And the alliance…"  She trailed off, but he knew the same things he'd been turning over had been in her thoughts. 

            "I know, I just…"  He didn't know how to finish.  With a sigh, he nodded, and moved to leave. 

            "Cullen…" she breathed, and then her hands, bare now and warm, were cupping his face, pulling his forehead down to meet hers.  He squeezed his eyes shut as he slipped his own hands, still gloved, around to the small of her back and hugged her close. 

            "Don't send me away from you," he whispered, and she made a sharp noise that might have been a sob. 

            "Don't ask me to do something I can't," she replied shakily.  With a deep breath, he disengaged himself from her grasp. 

            "I'm sorry, Inquisitor," he said as calmly as possible.  Forcing everything away, he straightened his uniform and ran a hand over his hair before he clasped his hands behind his back.  "I did not mean to upset you." 

            For a moment, he thought her resolve might have abandoned her;  her face contorted into something like a frown before the smooth mask of the Inquisitor dropped into place.  "I am stronger than that, Commander," she stated, though he caught the shiver that shook her. 

            "Of course, Inquisitor."  It took only a moment for him to locate his mask, its face streaked with blood from their earlier fight.  He hesitated, wiping at the spots with this thumb, before he met her gaze.  "Would you…"  He extended it toward her, and her tough expression faltered. 

            "Don't ask this of me," she said, her voice barely a whisper. 

            He reached and caught her marked hand, the green light sparkling in her palm.  "I have no one else," he said, placing the mask over the Anchor.  It glowed eerily through the eye holes, an entity glaring up to keep them apart.  "Only you." 

            With a shaky nod, she accepted the mask from his hands.  Cullen crouched a little, just enough so she could reach him easily, and held it to his face as she tied the ribbons.  Her fingers fumbled the knot a few times before she managed it, but soon enough it was finished. 

            "Thank you," he said softly, turning back to face her.  "I'll go." 

            Her eyes searched his face.  There was nothing for her to see, just the blank golden mask looking back at her and a scarred mouth that had so little to offer.   But she must have seen something, though Cullen couldn't fathom what, for she caught his hand in hers and gently entwined their fingers.  "Cullen, wait," she said.  Slowly, oh so slowly and without even a glance at her companions, she pushed herself to her toes and kissed him, long and warm.  His free hand brushed her jaw, gloved fingertips barely touching her as he responded just as gently, knowing it could be their last and not wanting to break the moment. 

            Pulling back just the tiniest bit, Talia whispered, "I don't know what to do," into his lips, and Cullen thought his heart might shatter, so deeply did he feel the pain of her words. 

            "I… I…"  But he couldn't put his longing into words, couldn't minimize what he felt to fit it into the common tongue.  Instead he kissed her again, the same slow kiss he had so often imagined pressing to her lips that day on the battlements a lifetime ago. 

            When he couldn't bear the weight any longer, he broke the kiss and pulled away, turning without words to return to his duty.  She kept his hand, stretching out behind him until she couldn't hold him any longer, but he didn't look back.  Not then, not when he felt the tears well out from under his mask, not when he heard her call his name and Cassandra murmured, "Let him go," behind him. 

            He had to go.  He'd spent weeks convincing himself he was doing the right thing, the last few days believing he was strong enough to protect her, to give up what he wanted in service and keep her safe in the process, and then she'd broken down all his defenses in a matter of hours.  He was not strong enough, as he'd always known.  He was alone, and broken. 

            So as he walked, he prayed. 

            _O Maker, hear my cry: Guide me through the blackest nights. Steel my heart against temptations…_

            As his boots thudded softly on the rich carpet of the Grand Apartments, as he navigated a myriad of staircases, as he emerged once again into the gardens, Cullen prayed .

            _In the long hours of the night when hope has abandoned me, I will see the stars and know Your Light remains._

            He wiped the tears from his eyes angrily, feeling the salt turn gritty under the mask.  He walked past the bodies they'd left behind, the tiny alcove where she'd kissed him.  He could be strong, again. 

            _Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the Light. I shall weather the storm.  I shall endure._

            Josephine and Leliana descended on him the moment he emerged into the guest wing of the palace, begging for information and answers about what had happened.  Though he turned over the locket as the Inquisitor had bid him, he did nothing else.  Instead he walked to his former place, silent and steady as Orlais demanded, and he stood.

            _I have faced armies with You as my shield, and though I bear scars beyond counting, nothing can break me._

            He would be strong again, but his limbs were going numb, his chest hollow as he watched the nobles flit about the room, talking about frivolous nothings while the Inquisition tried to save the world. 

            _I cannot see the path.  Perhaps there is only abyss.  Trembling I step forward, in darkness enveloped._

             The evening played out before him, but he saw little of it.  He stood, and stared, and prayed, until finally Josephine tentatively released him, reminding him to get some sleep before the next day.  They had work to do, an assassin to stop, and the Inquisition needed him. 

            He did not listen.  The palace grounds were enormous, Gaspard's home almost as large, but nowhere in this heathen wasteland could he find a chapel, or peace.  So he wandered the gardens in the courtyard, not daring to return to the Palace and unable to go to his room and sleep.  And when he finally found a statue of Andraste in an overgrown corner of the gardens, he stripped off his mask, and sank to his knees, and wept. 

            _Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide.  I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond.  For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost._

            The light of dawn was just breaking over the horizon when he finally pushed himself up, catching himself against the statue's pedestal when his knees refused to straighten.   The walk to his guest room seemed interminable, the mask a forgotten scrap in his hands, and when he arrived, he barely remembered to strip off his coat and boots before he collapsed. 

            _I am not alone.  Even as I stumble on the path with my eyes closed, yet I see the Light is here._

            There was little serenity to be had here, but Andraste smiled down on him for a solitary moment:  Sleep came easily, and as he fell he dreamed of pulling Talia close, of snuggling into her and never letting go until the Maker Himself demanded it. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick reminder: The tags for panic attacks, angst, and all the rest are there for a reason. 
> 
> On a related note, I'm sorry for what's about to happen :/

            A headache pounded inside his skull before Cullen had even opened his eyes.  He rolled over, one hand searching for a pillow to pull over his face.  Perhaps if he refused to truly wake, he could avoid everything that awaited him.

            It was not to be. 

            His searching hand did not encounter a pillow; instead, he fumbled up against the warm body of another person in his bed, and he sat up fast, too fast for the nausea that accompanied his migraine.  Choking bile back down, he flung himself out of bed, just making it to his wash basin before what little he'd had to eat last night made itself known again. 

            He heaved as the room spun, whoever was in his bed less than a thought in the back of his mind.  The porcelain basin swam before his eyes, and he briefly registered his own white-knuckled grip on the table before his knees buckled. 

            Everything went dark before he hit the ground. 

            A few seconds or a few hours  later -- Cullen could not be sure -- he woke again.  The nausea had abated, though his headache throbbed as lively as ever.  Something soft, cushioned almost, supported his head, and slowly he became aware of someone humming an old Chantry hymn.  Opening his eyes, he found the concerned face of the Inquisitor staring down at him, those green eyes wide and bloodshot. 

            "This isn't quite how I pictured waking up with you," she quipped, though her smile did not reach her eyes.  "Are you all right?" 

            This had to be a dream.  It couldn't be real -- the Inquisitor couldn't be sitting on the floor of his room in the Winter Palace, she just couldn't be, the risk was too great, and beside he'd locked his door when he stumbled in last night, he always did, old habits died hard, and --

            "Cullen, hey," she cooed at him, her fingertips rubbing gentle circles into his temples.  "It's okay, I'm here." 

            What was happening?  He could feel his pulse climbing, sweat breaking out along his spine and forehead, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.  But he couldn't, pain spiking through his chest, pain entirely unlike the fracture in his heart, and he tried to lift his arm to push her away only to realize they weighed a ton, too heavy to move let alone lift. 

            Talia shifted out from behind him, leaving him shaking on the floor until she sat next to him and took his hand.  He could see it shaking, but it was as though it wasn't his anymore, too heavy and removed to be real.  Talia leaned over, placing his hand in the center of her chest and breathing deeply. 

            "Hey," she said softly, gently, though he could see fear in her eyes.  "Feel my heart."  She took another deep breath, setting her hand over his heart as she did.  "Feel my breath."  Another deep breath.  "I've got you.  I'm here, I'm not going anywhere." 

            Tingling pain shot up his arm and he cried out, his hand spasming against her skin, but some back corner of his mind remembered this from when he'd nearly succumbed to withdrawal.  He tried to focus on her touch, the warmth of her hand through his thin linen shirt and the thump of her heart under his fingers.  Gradually, so gradually, he took a breath, then another, distantly hearing her talk him down until he was breathing almost normally.  His heart still pounded, but it too was slowing with her guidance.  Above her head, the room stopped spinning as he focused on her gaze. 

            "Hey," she repeated eventually.  "Welcome back."  She leaned sideways to grab something.  His hand dragged along her chest as she moved, his fingertips catching the thin straps of her tank top as his palm brushed her breast, but he didn't have the presence of mind to realize.  With a soft smile, she produced a damp rag, which she lay over his forehead.  Her hand left his chest then to wrap around his where it still rested against her, and for a long moment they watched each other.  Cullen's eyes drifted shut as she started humming again, the cool rag calming his headache.  Before he knew it, he was asleep. 

            He woke to a weight on his chest, but it had none of the tightness of his panic attack earlier that morning.   This was the weight of Talia Trevelyan curled up against him, her head on his chest and her arm slung around his waist.  Her dark hair spread over his shoulder and pillow, a blanket tucked around them both where they lay on the floor.  Gently he squeezed his arm where it looped across her back, pulling her closer to him, and gave a contented sigh. 

            They couldn't stay like this, nor was he entirely sure how it had happened in the first place, but for just a moment, it was nice to pretend. 

            Talia stretched against him a few minutes later.  Cullen hadn't moved, only drawn warm circles into her bare shoulder with his thumb as he held her, and he didn't stop as she shifted to rest her chin on his chest. 

            "Good morning," he said softly when her sleepy gaze met his. 

            She smiled at him, open and easy.  "Hi you."  With careful movements, she leaned up and kissed his cheek, her lips prickly against his stubble. 

            He glanced around the room, seeing the washbasin where he'd vomited in the corner. Somehow she'd maneuvered him onto the rug next to his bed and built what looked like a nest for them.  "Not that I mind," he began, hating how her eager smile faltered.  "But why did you sleep in here?" 

            With an elaborate stretch he suspected was fake, Talia rolled to lay beside him and stare up at the ceiling.  He lifted his arm to let her go but caught her fingers before she could get too far;  he wanted to maintain any contact between them, even if it couldn't last. 

            "I um," she said before they heard someone say something next door.  Both froze.  The muffled words came again, the accent just clear enough to remind Cullen that Leliana's room was beside his. 

            "Leliana," he hissed, and Talia's eyes went wide.  Inwardly he cringed; she must be as afraid of the Spymaster as he, especially here in the Winter Palace. 

            "That means I have to go," she whispered. 

            Cullen instinctively tightened his grip on her hand.  "What? No," he said, knowing how desperate he sounded but unable to care.  Let her know how much he wanted to be with her. 

            "No, I have to," she said, wiggling out of his grip.  "She can't catch us." 

            He sat up slowly, the blanket pooling in his lap.  She was right, of course she was right, but he struggled to wrap his mind around it.  For just a moment, they'd been almost normal, waking up together like any other couple, but it was not to be. 

            "Have breakfast with me," he blurted out as he watched her tug on a pair of low slippers. 

            "What?" Her head jerked up to look at him, and his confidence faltered. 

            "Please?"  he asked, feeling his face color.  Why the request would make him blush he didn't know, but he rubbed his neck anyway.  "I… cannot bear to have nothing between us." 

            "Cullen…" she began, but he shook his head. 

            "I mean it," he said softly, more aware than ever that they could be overheard.  "Have breakfast with me, like we do at Skyhold.  Like …."  _We used to_ , his mind filled in, and he dropped his forehead into his hand, unable to hold her gaze. 

            Her hand under his chin brought him back to her.  "Like we used to," she supplied, that uncanny ability to understand him rising to the surface.  It was all he could do to keep from pulling her into his arms and never letting go. 

            Instead he nodded, and she smiled.  "Okay.  Meet me in ten minutes?" 

            "Of course," he replied gently.  Leaning in, she pressed her forehead to his for a moment, her eyes closed, and then with a shimmer of stealth powder, she was gone. 

            Cullen sat on the floor of his room for a long time. 

            He wished she stayed.  He wished he wasn't marrying someone else, that she wasn't marrying someone else.  He wished he had pulled her into his arms, had the chance to kiss her and make love to her, that he hadn't pushed her away so long ago. 

            And though he couldn't blame her, he wished she had kissed him goodbye.  She'd probably woken to the sounds of him throwing up that morning, and had he been more aware, he'd have rinsed his mouth out to make himself more presentable, more acceptable.  She likely didn't do it on purpose, he tried to assure himself, but he couldn't deny that his heart broke just a little further in the absence of her touch. 

            For what felt like the thousandth time, tears burned in the corners of his eyes, and Cullen pushed himself up before they could fall.  He'd wanted strength, prayed for strength, the night before.  In return, he'd gotten sleep, and Talia waking up beside him.  Anything else would have to come from within. 

            He splashed water on his face and rinsed his mouth before attempting to tame his hair.  It wasn't fully curly yet -- that would happen after he bathed later -- so perhaps he could get away with it for a casual breakfast.  A quick glance in the mirror told him otherwise, and with a sigh, he poured the pitcher of water over his head and combed his hair, careful to add the lemony scented lotion that Talia liked so much.  It had always amused her to no end that a soldier cared so much for his appearance. 

            If he couldn't do anything else, he could still make her smile. 

            Fresh trousers and a clean tunic later, and he made his way through the hallways of Gaspard's estate to the dining hall.  The same long table and elaborate paintings of their first night confronted him as he entered, but they held no terror for him now -- not when the Inquisitor smiled at him from along the table, a steaming cup of tea at the place beside her. 

            "Thank you," he said as he sat, inhaling the familiar scent of his tea as he did.  With a nod, she gestured for a servant to bring them breakfast.  They sat in silence, he enjoying his tea and Talia engrossed in her coffee, until the servant returned with their food -- porridge and maple syrup, sausage, and fruit, a plate piled high with Orlesian pastries nearby.  It was surprisingly Fereldan, other than the pastry, and he gave Talia a knowing look. 

            She avoided his eyes, a tiny smile on her lips behind the mug.  With a smile back, Cullen dug into his breakfast, careful to avoid eating too much.  Cassandra often harassed him that he didn't eat enough, as did the Inquisitor, but he was hesitant after this morning.  Beside him, Talia watched, hardly touching her own food. 

            "I'm sorry if I scared you this morning," she said abruptly. 

            Cullen paused, a fork lifted halfway to his mouth.  "What?" 

            "When… you woke up," she said without elaborating, but he knew she was talking about his frantic run for the washbasin.  He harbored no doubts that it might have been avoided had she not been there. 

            "It's all right," he said, finding that it was.  No ill will lingered in his chest; the chance to wake up beside her had smoothed that wrinkle over.  "But may I ask again, why did you… um, you know."  It sounded awkward to his ears, even with what little he could say around listening ears, but Talia blushed nonetheless. 

            "I just…"  She hesitated, tossing an apple back and forth between her hands to avoid answering.  Cullen waited patiently, stirring cream into his porridge.  It couldn't live up to his Skyhold expectations, but it would do.  When Talia heaved a sigh, he glanced at her, wishing he could cup her jaw and tell her it would be all right. 

            "Tell me," he said softly, trying to put all his affection into his voice.  "Please." 

            She put down her apple.  "Cullen, I care about you," she began before her eyes widened.  He turned around, following her gaze to see that Leliana, Josephine, and a young woman who could only be Josephine's sister had just stepped into the hall.  "Andraste's fucking knicker weasels, is there nowhere I can speak freely in this entire country?"  Talia grumbled under her breath, and though he shared her sentiment, he couldn't help his snort at the curse. 

            "I have an errand to run after breakfast.  Perhaps you'd like to accompany me?"  There was no such errand.  He wanted his question answered, wanted the chance to kiss her again if it existed, and that could not happen here. 

            "Perhaps, yes," she said noncommittally, and he realized he'd lost her to the Inquisitor again.  They ate in silence after that, little either could say without being overheard.  Josephine and Leliana perched a few seats away, laughing and sipping tea with Josephine's sister as they chatted. 

            "Pass the sugar?"  she asked suddenly, startling him.

            "Hm?" 

            "Pass me the sugar?"  Talia said sweetly, a smirk dancing across her lips.  He looked around for it only to find it directly next to her left hand.  When he opened his mouth to point this out, she raised an eyebrow at him playfully, the only remnant of their friendly Skyhold breakfasts, and he quickly scooped it up. 

            "For you, my lady," he teased back, some of the weight on his chest lifting, and when she reached to accept it, her hand cupped his, a lingering, unnecessary touch that send lightning tingling up his arm. 

            "Thank you," she said slowly, dragging her fingertips across his bare knuckles.  They repeated the exchange several times, with apples and the salt and once with Talia's mug under the guise of Cullen being curious about the taste of Orlesian coffee.  But very soon it was too much, too intimate, and Leliana kept shooting suspicious glances their way even as the others pretended they weren't present.  Their once-easy banter had been undermined by the path their lives had taken, ground down by Orlais and the Inquisition and the finally-acknowledged attraction that before they'd left simmering at the edges of their lives.  Cullen had spent months wishing for another chance to tell her how he felt, a chance to change his life, and he'd done it two nights before.  But it hadn't gotten him where he wanted to be; it had only brought pain. 

            For the first time, he wished he hadn't kissed her. 

            Beside him, Talia noticed his brooding, as she always did.  "You're glaring at your breakfast," she observed as she pushed her plate away.  "Time for that errand?" 

            "Of course, Inquisitor," he mumbled. 

            As soon as they stood, the other women looked up.  Leliana was quick to remind them of the war council meeting in just over an hour, and Josephine reminded Cullen that he needed to get his boots cleaned before the third ball tonight.  He acquiesced readily, eager to be done with them.  It made him nauseated to know that, as nonchalant as both women appeared, they'd in fact been listening intently to he and the Inquisitor eat breakfast, waiting for even the slightest break in their facades. 

            "I will return in plenty of time," he assured them, fighting to keep his tone level.  He didn't realize he was grinding his teeth until Talia touched his arm and gestured for them to leave. 

            They walked out of Gaspard's estate and into the streets of Halamshiral.  The decorations from their procession -- _Maker's breath, had that only been a few days before?_ \-- still hung, the Eye of the Inquisition staring at them as they headed toward the market.  A few locals were hanging long banners of white triangles between the tree branches as they passed, and Cullen froze when he realized what they were.  And who they were for. 

            Him. 

            Decorating the streets was an old Fereldan wedding tradition, one still used to make everyone in a town feel involved in the celebration.  Cullen remembered seeing them line the streets of Honnleath as a child; once, they'd even decorated the old golem statue in the middle of the town, its fearsome grin just a little softer with a necklace of white.  Someone, perhaps Josephine, must have thought he would enjoy the surprise, this little piece of his heritage in the middle of Orlais. 

            "This is beautiful," Talia said as they walked, oblivious to the garland's deeper meaning.  Cullen made a low noise in his throat but did not comment.  He didn't trust himself to speak. 

            The banners fluttered as they continued toward the market's busy center, and side by side they were blissfully silent, comfortable just walking.  Cullen knew they needed to talk, to try to figure out what this was between them, but he didn't know how to begin.  And regardless, he found he didn't want to; it was easy to imagine a wedding he could look forward to, a peaceful stroll through his childhood home with the woman he loved at his side, when that white bunting hung above his head.  

            And he'd much rather think of that than the future that was coming. 

            "So," she prompted him when they'd lost themselves in the crowd of villagers and merchants, everyone around them chatting and laughing and not a mask in sight. 

            He glanced nervously at her, wondering if he dared risk holding her hand here in public.  But hers were tucked in the back pockets of her leggings as she walked, and as much as he might feel some permission to touch her, that stretched things a little far. 

            "I… You never told me how you ended up in my bed," he replied eventually.  Avoiding her eyes was easy when they walked side by side.  "Not that I minded…" 

            "You said that," she told him.  "And given that you threw up, I'm not sure I believe you." 

            "Then… perhaps I need to know what went wrong.  I wouldn't want to wake to a beautiful woman again and make the same mistakes."  He eyed her cautiously, his scar tugging with the smirk on his lips,

            To his surprise, Talia's lips contorted into a frown.  "You wouldn't want to scare your new wife," she muttered, and guilt washed over him. 

            "Right," he mumbled, his heart sinking.  As always, he'd ruined it.  "I didn't… I meant if you were to… Maker's breath, I'm sorry."

            Her expression didn't change. 

            Shame burned in his chest.  "You… were going to tell me…"  He'd miscalculated, the chance to make her smile overpowering common sense, but he needed her answer.  He needed to know how she felt about him; he needed her to sustain him, to keep him alive in the days ahead. 

            Beside him, Talia kept walking.  "I… felt guilty about the way we left things last night," she explained, and his brow furrowed.  "And… I wanted to know what it was like, just once, to… to wake up next to you," she whispered as she hung her head. 

            Cullen reached out and caught her elbow in his palm.  "You mustn't think like that," he told her gently, though he knew she was right.  It was just once, the only chance he'd have, and he hadn't even known. 

            She knew it too.  "Of course I have to," she said with a hollow laugh.  "For Andraste's sake, you're getting married tomorrow!  I shouldn't have said anything, I never even should have gone to you that day on the battlements and messed everything up!" 

            "Talia…" 

            "You know I'm right," she choked out, turning away so she didn't have to meet his eyes.  "I even told you not to touch me yesterday, and then I'm the one who started it again.  This whole mess is my fault." 

            With gentle hands, he tilted her face up to his, his forehead hovering just above her skin.  "Stop blaming yourself," he whispered.  "I kissed you, remember?  We're in this together."  Maker's breath, how he shouldn't have kissed her.  To avoid all this pain, to have never caused her any in the first place… it was almost preferable.  And yet…

            Yet he didn't want to wonder what could have been, to wall off his feelings and live alone and numb for the rest of his days. 

            "I don't regret any of it," he told her, amber eyes staring into emerald.  "I don't.  I can't, not with you."  How he wished he could kiss her now.

            "It wasn't supposed to be like this, Cullen," she whispered.  He could hear the sob waiting in her throat, and public be damned, he pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her to hold her close.  Her arms slipped around him, fingers clutching at his shoulders, as she too gave in.  His breath caught in his lungs, pain radiating through his chest because he'd thought the same, wanted the same, and everything told him it couldn't be. 

            "I know," he said into her hair.  "I know."  Before long, she stirred in his arms, and gradually he let her go, smoothing his fingers through her hair as she tried to smile up at him. 

            "It was wonderful to wake to you, just once," he said when she didn't speak. 

            Talia snorted, wiping tears from her eyes as she did.  "Cullen, perhaps your memory has deserted you.  You threw up, passed out, and then had a panic attack.  Not the most romantic wake-up I've ever experienced." 

            Despite himself, he chuckled.  "I never said I was good at this." 

            "I'm finding that," she teased.  With a gentle smile, she laced their fingers, and once again they walked.  In its own way, this was just as risky as anything else, but Cullen knew the comfort he drew from this small touch.  Hopefully Talia knew it too. 

            Their walk was aimless now, wandering among armor venders and merchants shouting about the merits of different weapons.  Ahead he could see a vender selling scarves and another selling jewelry, and they reminded him of his earlier desire to find a gift for Talia.  He still didn't know how to do that -- perhaps he needed to ask Dorian? -- but something to show his support, to remind her how he cared for her, seemed ever more necessary now.  She'd chosen him, Cullen Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition.  Broken, alone, and no matter how he loved her, it could not be. 

            He watched her out of the corner of his eye as they walked.  She was so beautiful, her dark hair framing her cheeks and the glint of those emerald eyes as she watched the people crowded around them.   But more than that, she was strong, brave, willing to sacrifice her own life to save the world, and he knew he was lucky to have the chance to know her, let alone love her. 

            "I… shouldn't have said yes, when Josephine asked me about Orlais," he said before he could stop himself, and he saw the muscle in her jaw clench. 

            "I would have pushed you away like you did to me," she told him, and guilt, his old companion, washed over him once more. 

            "Talia… I am so sorry." 

            "It's too late," she murmured as they walked, though whether it was for him or the air, he wasn't sure.   But her voice rose on her next words, stronger than it had been.  "Whatever this is, we are too late for it to be anything more." 

            "I know," he replied.   They walked a little further in silence, still hand in hand.  "Talia… what will we do when we return to Skyhold?"  It was a question he did not know how to answer. 

            Beside him, she shrugged.  "I don't know… we can't exactly… It won't be the same, I imagine.  You'll have a wife, and I'll have a husband, and we'll just…"  She dropped his hand, instead using hers to make a gesture like two paths diverging from each other. 

            Cullen stopped in his tracks.  "I don't want to lose you," he said, confused. 

            "We'll still be friends," she replied, though her tone was sad.  "But… we can't be close like we were before once we're both married.  We'll have different lives, different responsibilities..."  

            With a sigh, Cullen nodded.  He knew exactly what she meant.  "And the war won't last forever," he finished.  The same thoughts he used to talk himself down so many times poured from her lips, the same conclusion he always drew. 

            "Right," she murmured, the word heavy with meaning.  "Things will change." 

            "As they must," he added, but he barely heard himself.  Instead he wondered what it would be like to choose her.  To throw everything else to Corypheus, to watch the world plunge into chaos, to give up every responsibility and chance but to have her. 

            He tried to picture that moment again:  He and Talia, walking hand in hand down that street in Honnleath, white banners flying to celebrate _their_ wedding, _their_ future.  She'd turn to look at him, white flowers in her hair and a smile on her face, and he'd smile right back, their fingers intertwined as they left the Chantry, together. 

            He could see it so clearly, just as he could see the arrow materialize from her chest, her throat, blood spurting as a Venatori archer appeared from nowhere.  Powerless without her, the Inquisition had failed; Thedas had been overrun with enemies.  She'd collapse into his arms, the Anchor flickering out in her palm as she died, and he'd be alone to face the world he'd created, the world he'd thrown away for her. 

            Walking beside her, back in Orlais and the world he must live in, he stumbled as a wave of nausea overcame him.  Even in his fantasies, he could not have what he wanted -- even in his own mind, duty won. 

            "Perhaps it will be better this way," he muttered, though whether the thought was for her or for himself, he did not know.

            She didn't look at him when she answered.  "Maybe, yes."    

            "Talia," he said, reaching out to touch her hand.  "I really was happy to find you with me this morning." 

            She laughed, tossing her head back to stare at the sky as they started walking again.  "I shouldn't have done it," she admitted.  "It was pretty risky." 

            "I'm still glad."  They'd wandered far enough now that the market faded into the background, and Cullen realized that, at least for a moment, they were alone.  Feeling brave, he grabbed her hand and ducked behind the closest building.  She tumbled into his arms as he leaned against the wall, and quickly he leaned in to kiss her.  A gasp burst from her lips and morphed into a groan as her hands skimmed over his chest, his hair.  Cullen braced himself against the wall, sliding down a little to cage her in between his thighs, and she pressed herself closer, her body warm through the thin cloth that separated them. 

            Kissing her felt so natural, so right, that when her tongue begged entrance and he opened, he didn't hesitate to grasp her hips and drag her closer.  With a needy sound, she leaned into him, letting him take her weight.  One hand trailed down his chest, pausing at the waist of his trousers, and suddenly his arousal was throbbing heavy against his leg.  It was only with great effort that he stilled her searching hand and broke their kiss. 

            "We have to stop doing this," she gasped the moment she had air, but it didn't keep her from leaning into his embrace, her lower body tight against his.  He closed his eyes, wanting to hug her closer but worried about scaring her away.  He knew she could feel what her kiss, her touch, did to him, and given that just moments ago they'd been discussing being married to other people, none of this was appropriate. 

            "I know," he said into her hair.  Before he could think better of it, he pushed her away just enough to see her face.  "Stay with me again? Tonight?"  He couldn't deny the hopeful note in his voice.  The chance that she might slip in to curl up against him and he would know she was coming inspired such warmth in his chest.

            "Despite how I may want that," she said, rolling her hips once to catch his erection with her body.  He had to bite his lip to keep from groaning.  "I don't know if that's a good idea."    

            Cullen blushed up to his ears.  "Maker, I didn't mean that."  And despite the evidence to the contrary, he did not mean it that way, not like this.  Being intimate with her should be the start of a life together, and he didn't want something false in exchange for what couldn't be.  "I… just want to hold you and sleep beside you.  Please." 

            She swallowed and pulled further away.  "We can't, Cullen… it's not worth the risk." 

            His heart stuttered in his chest.  "Oh, I thought --"  But he didn't know how to go on.  He'd been cheated, somehow; she had crawled in beside him, seen him at his most vulnerable, and he had never known.  The opportunity to appreciate those moments had vanished without his permission, lost to dreams and panic he could not control.  And now, to hear that the chance to let him experience all that was not worth it? 

            It was too much.  She was probably right -- she shouldn't have snuck into his room in the first place, of course not, but to hear her admit it?  The fearless Inquisitor, turned back by this small challenge, unwilling to face this for him? 

            He pushed himself up to standing and stepped away from her.  "Then you should have left me alone last night," he nearly growled.

            "What?"  Shock flew across her face. 

            Cullen took another step away from her, unwittingly backing himself further into the alley.  "You should have left me alone," he repeated, anger rising in his chest. "You should have gone to bed and spared me waking up to you." 

            She stared after him, making no move to follow, and he couldn't tell if pain or anger colored her words.  "Would you have preferred that?" 

            He stared back.  "I'd rather wonder every day of my life than know what it was to have you beside me," he spat, though he knew it wasn't true.  "I'd rather I didn't spend my entire life wondering what it would be like if it were you instead of her."  He turned away  from her accusing eyes to rub his hand across his neck.  "Maker, this would be easier if I'd never kissed you." 

            The thought tumbled out before he could stop it, and once uttered, he could not take it back.  

            "I don't want this to be easy," she hissed at him.  "It isn't for me, so why should it be for you?  Why should you get to walk off into the Orlesian sunset while I'm left behind to watch you go?" 

            "What about this seems easy to you?  To watch the woman I love throw herself away to some Starkhaven twat in the name of alliances?  To know that all our military might means nothing and instead we auction off our most valuable players?"  He was advancing on her now, his vision blurred with anger.  "You can't fight your way out of this, and you're losing, so instead you take advantage of my feelings to distract yourself!"

            "And am I not a distraction to you?" She shouted back.  "You get married tomorrow, and yet you're asking another woman to share your bed!  That's not the Cullen Rutherford I know." 

            "You should have said something before now if you wanted me!" 

            "I did!"  The Anchor sputtered and popped in her palm, its green light making their argument appear as but a nightmare from the Fade.  "You turned me down.  Duty was the most important thing to you.  The Inquisition demanded better from us."  She stalked closer, angrier than he'd ever seen her.  "Where is that righteous attitude now, Commander?  Or would you give it up for a quickie in an alley?" 

            Some distant part of his mind wondered how they'd gotten here, screaming at each other behind some tavern wall in the middle of Halamshiral, but he couldn't stop himself.  "I never wanted anything so base," he growled, the frustration rumbling through his chest.  "You're the one who said it couldn't happen and then broke your own rule." 

            "I wanted a life together, Cullen!" She shouted, ignoring his words.  "A whole life, where we could have something that was just ours.  Why can't you let that happen?" 

            "As if I have a choice, Inquisitor," he snarled.  "As if my desires matter anymore!  I am married off like some high-bred whore to whomever the Inquisition happens to need most." 

            "Am I not worth calling off the alliance for?  Do I mean so little to you?" 

            Though he'd thought the same, he couldn't help the laugh that forced itself out of him.  "I could ask you the same," he replied.  "And of us, you're the only one with any power to do that.  I have nothing but my title, and so I will live out my days in a world I can't even witness without losing myself to nightmares.  So don't accuse me of fucking it all up." 

            Tears were streaming down her face now as she deflated before his eyes.  "You did fuck it up, Commander.  You're the one who kissed me." 

            "I already said I shouldn't have done that," he answered, but the anger was leeching out of him too.  There was only profound sadness, and shame that crept over him like an icy bath after a winter's day. 

            "Get away from me, Cullen," she whispered. "I'm not worth anything to you, so just get away." 

            "What?"  Everything slowed around him, blurred and stretched like he'd moved too fast and his mind hadn't caught up.  Dread crept through his chest, its dark fingers wrapped around his heart.  _Maker, what have I done?_

            "Get away from me," she repeated.  "Leave me alone, and stop hurting me."  Tears still ran down her cheeks, leaving blotchy salt-trails behind, but her voice didn't waver. 

            "Talia, wait, I --" 

            "Stop it, Cullen.  Just stop.  Go get married, do whatever you need to do, and just… leave me alone." 

            Her steps were slow as she backed away from him, and his first instinct was to go to her, gather her into his arms and tell her how sorry he was, how much he loved her, how he didn't regret a moment they'd spent together, haunting or otherwise.  But he held himself back as he watched her stare at him, those green eyes brimmed with tears and such sadness on her face that he was overwhelmed with the shame of having caused it.  Her request was so simple.  It broke his heart to hear it, to know that he'd driven her away, but all along, he'd been telling himself he had to protect her. 

            He was not strong enough to protect himself, but he could take care of her if she asked.  Doubt lingered in his mind -- Was this really for the best?  Would he make it worse if he did as she asked? Would she hate him for it? 

            Perhaps it would be for the best if she did.  Nothing else could hurt her then: not his marriage tomorrow or hers to the Starker prince, nor anything else except Corypheus himself.  And if his alliance with Orlais gained them the military support that was promised, he'd be on his way to protecting her from the darkspawn magister too.  

            All he had to do was let her go. 

            "I'll… do anything you ask, Inquisitor," he said, his voice carrying through the still alley.  Eyes still glued to his, she nodded, sending tears once again down her cheeks.  Before he could change his mind, before he could call her back and comfort her and never let her go, she turned on her heels and fled. 

            There was nothing else he could do. 

            Resignation slipped over him like an old friend, cold and quiet.  He could not collapse, not here where no one would find him, but neither could he hold himself together.   Slowly Cullen moved backward, step by step until his shoulders hit the wall, and he sank down gratefully.  He needed something solid, and though his head dropped into his hands and his body shook, he did not cry. 

  


	12. Chapter 12

            Dorian sat down across from him not fifteen minutes later.  The Tevinter mage didn't speak, just stretched out on the ground like a giant cat and studied the clouds as they rolled by.  His fingers twitched as they drew tiny patterns in the air, sparks following his every gesture. 

            For long minutes, Cullen sat in silence beside him.  He had nothing more to offer.  The Inquisition had called, and he had answered, like always.  There was an assassination to stop, a military to organize, a ball to attend, and a marriage to join.  He might have better armor now than when he'd come across the Waking Sea from Kirkwall, but truly he was just as empty-handed now as when he'd left for Templar training as a boy. 

            A mouse, its neck clearly broken from some barkeep's trap, darted by in front of him, and Cullen watched it go curiously.  Moments later, a long line of bulbous ants trickled by, their trail forming what looked eerily like the Eye of the Inquisition as they passed his boots. 

            He glanced at Dorian. 

            The mage sat with an innocent look, staring at him peacefully, but his fingers flurried with purple energy as he reanimated the pests of the alleyway.  When he caught Cullen frowning at him, his lips curled into a smirk. 

            "Am I bothering you, Commander?"  He questioned, guiding the mouse over the toe of Cullen's boot with a gesture. 

            "Why are you doing that, Dorian?" 

            "Doing what?"  The mouse scurried off, its movements surprisingly life-like again before it collapsed.  Nearby, the ants milled about uncertainly before the magic sustaining them vanished as well. 

            Cullen rolled his eyes. 

            "Well, it got you speaking to me, and that was really my intention," Dorian added after a moment, and Cullen chuckled. 

            "What would you like to speak about?" 

            With an elaborate sigh, he leaned back on his elbows.  "Oh, nothing in particular.  The sun as it shines down upon us.  The charisma that gives my complexion its characteristic glow."  He adjusted to stare at Cullen, his posture as casual as ever.  "The Inquisitor running past me in tears, muttering about how terribly cruel her Commander is." 

            Cullen didn't respond.  What could he possibly have to say that would make anything better?  Instead he focused on keeping his breathing deep and even as pain tightened his chest again.  He almost wished for the necromancy magic to bring back the mouse to distract him. 

            Dorian leaned forward and put his hand on Cullen's knee.  "Tell me what happened." 

            He shook his head. "It's simple.  I did something I shouldn't have, and we've both suffered for it." 

            "Did you fight?"  Cullen nodded sharply, and Dorian shifted so he could sit beside him.  "Commander, I ask again: Tell me what happened?" 

            Gradually Cullen told his friend everything:  the tea, the dance, the kiss.  Talia telling him not to touch her, the moment when she flung herself at him in the gardens.  The panic of the next morning, the awkwardness of their breakfast, and the total collapse of their relationship now.  As he talked, though he hardly included details, the memories floated up inside his mind, and by the time he got to their argument, the Commander of the Inquisition was fighting back tears. 

            "What am I to do, Dorian?"  He asked when he'd finished, and beside him the mage hesitated. 

            "I think perhaps you are right to let her go, Cullen," he said softly, his natural flair diminished when his true self came to the surface.  "It is hard, I know, but perhaps… it's for the best." 

            "Of course."  It was the same conclusion he'd come to a thousand times.  It was the same conclusion Talia had come to as well, and Leliana when she'd warned him away from her, and Josephine weeks before when Cullen had approached her.  Everyone agreed that this one piece of happiness could not be had. 

            "Listen, Commander," Dorian said suddenly.  "It is not that I do not want you to be together, because I have never seen two people better suited to each other." 

            Cullen snorted.  "We've either kissed or fought the last two days, nothing more." 

            His friend waved a hand dismissively.  "Be that as it may.  My point is this: She is your best friend.  You need her, as she needs you."  Cullen opened his mouth to protest, but Dorian hushed him with another wave of his hands.  "You know I am right." 

            "Of course she's my best friend, Dorian, but that's not --" 

            "No, please don't protest it, my ego healed long ago," the mage grumbled, feigning a sniffle.  In spite of himself, Cullen smiled.   

            "Other than yourself," he added, mainly to sooth the man.  "I just… I don't see how that matters now." 

            "It's hard to see, I'll grant you that.  But trust me, Cullen, you're going to want your best friend back when this is over." 

            "What does that mean?" 

            He caught Dorian rolling his eyes as though seeking guidance from the Maker.  "Cullen.  If you throw your friendship with the Inquisitor away now, what will you have when you get back to Skyhold?  You are going to need her.  Don't ruin things." 

            He bristled at the idea, even though mere minutes ago Talia had suggested the same.  "I am doing no such thing!" 

            Dorian was not to be deterred.  "I did not say you were doing it on purpose, so don't bite my head off," he said, patting Cullen's arm absently.  "It's just… you're upset because you cannot be with her, yes?"  Cullen nodded.  "And of course, you don't want to marry some Orlesian airhead, but you have to for the Inquisition."  Again, Cullen nodded.   Dorian sighed.  "It seems to me that you're lashing out at her for events over which you have no control.  She is not to blame, and neither are you.  So stop it." 

            "That's what she said to me," Cullen muttered. 

            "I don’t doubt the context was a little different," Dorian replied. 

            "She said to stop hurting her," he said, and his voice was shaking now.  "She… said I didn't care about her.  Dorian, there's never been less truth to something, how do I…"  The tears that had been threatening for what felt like hours leaked from the corners of his eyes, running in slow rivulets down his face.  This couldn't be the end of their relationship;  even if he couldn't have her, he couldn't lose her either. 

            "I know, I know," the mage said as he put an arm around Cullen's shoulders in an awkward hug.  "We'll figure it out."  He made soothing noises for a while as Cullen fought to regain control over himself. 

            "I am not suited for this," he said eventually, and Dorian snickered. 

            "The Commander of the Inquisition, leader of the strongest military in Thedas, orchestrator of the victory at Adamant!  Who would have thought you were not good at talking about your feelings?"  He gave Cullen a cheeky sideways look, startling a laugh out of him. 

            "Shut it, mage," he growled, but there was no malice in it.  Instead he wiped his eyes and straightened up, his back solidly against the wall behind him.  They sat and watched the clouds above them for a while, listening to the sounds of the market in the distance. 

            Eventually Cullen spoke.  "She is all I want, Dorian." 

            "Unfortunately, I don't believe you can have her, Commander," he replied. 

            "I know, I just…" 

            Dorian shifted to look him in the eye.  "This is what you must stop, Cullen," he said sternly.  "You both know the impossibility of your situations.  You cannot change that.  But nowhere does any alliance say you cannot be friends, so that is what you must maintain."  

            Cullen dropped his gaze and ran a hand over the back of his neck.  "Things must change between us." 

            "Yes, they must."  His voice softened.  "A friendship like yours is not worth losing over this." 

            Anger bubbled up in his chest.  "Over love?  What friendship isn't worth losing for love?" 

            Dorian cocked an eyebrow at him.  "I know how attractive I am, and I'm flattered, Commander, really, but I believe your future wife will disagree."  They stared at each other for a moment before Cullen started chuckling.  Dorian followed soon after, the tension breaking as they laughed. 

            "You twat, I didn’t mean you," Cullen grumbled between chuckles, but Dorian only winked at him. 

            "Are you quite sure about that?  I saw how you looked at me when we danced."  Cullen reached over and ruffled Dorian's hair, bringing a shocked gasp from the mage.  "How dare you!"  He cried, leaning to get out of the way.  "You've defaced a national treasure!" 

            Cullen grinned, pleased with himself, and leaned against the wall while Dorian put himself back to rights.    "You said we are well-suited, the Inquisitor and I," he ventured when the mage had deemed himself presentable once more. 

            Now he shrugged.  "Of course you are.  You bring out the best in each other.  Talia softens you, which you desperately need Ser Stick-Up-Your-Arse, and you carry her."  He gave Cullen a sad smile.  "She cannot admit how much she needs you, I'm afraid." 

            "I love her," Cullen said softly, and beside him, Dorian nodded. 

            "I know, my friend," he said, and Cullen could see tears in the corners of his eyes.  "I am sorry."   

            The same old pain tightened his chest, making it hard to breathe.  "What do I do to fix it, Dorian?"

            "Apologize, Commander," he replied without hesitation, and Cullen nodded heavily.  "You must think beyond tomorrow and instead to what you want in the future." 

            "Even if what I want is not to be?" 

            "Even so." 

            They lapsed into silence for a while, though Cullen shifted uncomfortably as his rear end started to go numb from sitting on the ground.  He fumbled with his trousers, grumbling and trying to ignore how Dorian smirked under that mustache, when his hand paused on something in his pocket. 

            His coin. 

            He hadn't realized it was there, tucked away in the casual leather breeches he'd brought for what little downtime he had between the evenings.  It was his good luck charm, the one thing he'd carried from Ferelden to Kirkwall and back again.  The one thing that was really his. 

            As he dug it out, studying its scratched face in his palm, he couldn't help but smile a little.  Even his heart wasn't his anymore; it had belonged to Talia Trevelyan since the day he met her, and it had taken an arranged marriage to get him to see it.  Everything else he'd given up, but this didn't feel like a loss; he had no sense of giving anything up and instead the feeling of gaining something, even if he couldn’t have it.  She made him a better man, and there was no loss in that. 

            The thought that had been haunting him for days came back as he stared at Andraste's battered face, and he closed his hand over the coin.  This.  He could give her this.  It was small, and perhaps foolish, but he had to tell her he loved her, even if she didn't want to listen.  Even if he couldn't say the words to her, and even though she was right and their relationship had to change, he wanted her to know.   

            "Can you help me with something, Dorian?" 

            Like before, the mage didn't hesitate.  "Always, Commander." 

            "I… wanted to give the Inquisitor something…" he began, and Dorian's eyes widened when he saw Cullen clutching something in his fist. 

            "Cullen, I swear, if that is a ring of any kind…" 

            The idea of proposing only served to remind him of his arranged marriage, and Talia's.  "Even I wouldn't do something so foolish," he said, though Dorian made a dubious face.  "What do you think of this?"  He quickly explained his idea, passing the coin over to Dorian when he expressed his delight.

            "It is perhaps heavy-handed, but I think she'll appreciate the gesture," he said, taking the coin so he could take care of the details.  "One more thing.  This has been driving me mad."  He gestured toward Cullen's cheek, his fingertips glowing.  Cullen recoiled on first instinct, and Dorian tsked at him.  "It won't do to have you looking like you've been in a bar fight, ser," he insisted, and though he squirmed, Cullen let him heal the cut on his cheek and the bruise on his jaw. 

            "That obvious, huh?" 

            Dorian rolled his eyes.  "Painfully," he said.  "Now, I believe you have a meeting to attend?" 

            Cullen had completely forgotten.  "Um.  Yes, probably."  He stood quickly, ignoring how his knees complained, and offered his hand to Dorian. 

            "I'll bring the coin back before the ball," his friend said with a broad smile.  "Just… give it to her in person?  For both your sake's." 

            "I promise.  Thank you, Dorian, for the favor… and for the advice."  He blushed and offered the mage a handshake that quickly morphed into a hug.  "You are a true friend." 

            "I try, Commander," he replied with a smirk.  "Now off you go!" 

            Cullen headed back toward the estate, late but for the first time with a lighter heart.     

\---

            "Commander! There you are," Josephine said with a sigh of relief.  "We were thinking of sending a search party." 

            He kept his expression carefully neutral.  "No need to fret, Lady Ambassador.  I was walking with the Inquisitor."  It wasn't the complete truth, and the look on Leliana's face said she knew it. 

            "The Inquisitor returned nearly a half hour ago, Commander," the Spymaster said coldly.  "You are late." 

            With a slight incline of his head, Cullen acknowledged the Inquisitor's presence across their make-shift war table.  "My apologies, Sister Leliana, Inquisitor."  He noted that the Inquisitor did not nod back, only stood with her arms folded and her expression fierce. 

            "Now that everyone is present, may we continue please," she snapped, and he stepped into his usual place, sufficiently chastised. 

            "As I was saying," Leliana said with another pointed look at Cullen.  "The locket you discovered appears to have been a gift from Celene to Briala when they were lovers, which was quite a few years ago." 

            "Wouldn’t that have been during Celene's purging of the alienages?"  Josephine asked, her quill poised over her writing board. 

            "It was indeed," Leliana replied, looking positively gleeful.  "It is the perfect blackmail material.  And should the Ambassador wish to be in control of the courts, she would need to access it again." 

            "Meaning she could be behind the assassination," Josephine finished.  The Inquisitor did not look as convinced. 

            "But that's such old information.  All of it happened long before now," she said.  "And it doesn't point toward Corypheus at all." 

            "I agree with the Inquisitor," Cullen added. 

            "To no one's surprise," Leliana muttered.   Cullen threw her a dirty look that he hoped no one else caught.  "We did find Gaspard's family crest on a dagger used to murder someone, but that doesn't appear to link him to Corypheus either." 

            Opposite the table, Josephine deflated a little.  "We need more information," she said finally. 

            "Now I agree with the Ambassador," Cullen said, trying to resist the urge to somehow rub it in Leliana's smug face.  It was childish, he knew, but difficult to deny.  "Inquisitor," he said instead, turning to meet Talia's eyes.  She stared back at him, impassive as ever.  "Have you had the chance to search the Royal Wing of the palace yet?" 

            "I have not, Commander," she answered.  "I will do so tonight, assuming we have heard nothing to suggest the assassin will strike." 

            "Not yet, Inquisitor, but I have additional information to discuss."  Leliana explained that Celene's occult advisor, the same apostate she'd mentioned the day before, had made contact with them.  "She was first merely Celene's pet, but over time she has acquired power."

            "Leliana, get to the point," the Inquisitor grumbled.  It was out of character for her, and though she hadn't been acting herself since he walked in the room, Cullen still worried.  The lines of her body were tense as she held herself still, a bowstring about to snap. 

            If the Spymaster noticed, she said nothing.  "Morrigan is ruthless, and capable of anything.  I do not yet know whose side she is on, but she is under discussion to join the Inquisition as the Empire's official liaison.  My people are… investigating the issue."  Cullen caught the flicker of her eyes that suggested she may not be on the level with them, but the Inquisitor merely shrugged.  

            "Report in if you find something useful," she said. 

            Josephine perked up.  "That settles our evening's activities, but we have another issue that needs to be discussed before we can conclude." 

            "And what's that?"  Talia asked, her voice hard. 

            "Celene's lady in waiting approached me this morning with a message from the Empress," Josephine said.  "Apparently she has some concerns about our alliance." 

            "Josie…"  the Inquisitor all but growled.  Cullen's hand instinctively twitched toward her, to rest on her arm and reassure her, but he fought himself under control. 

            "Unfortunately, the events of last night kept our Commander from fulfilling his duties toward the Grand Duchess to the Empress' satisfaction.  She is… making threats." 

            "What?"  The word burst from both Cullen's and Talia's mouths, and Josephine quickly held up a calming hand. 

            "Idle threats, I assure you," she said evenly, but Cullen wasn't honestly sure if it was anger or relief that colored his words.  How different could things be if Orlais backed out of this arrangement?  He couldn't help his quick glance at the Inquisitor across the table, but she was steadfastly focused on Josephine and did not look at him. 

            "The Commander has many other commitments to care for," Leliana said, a teasing undertone to her words that Cullen didn't like. 

            "As I have explained," Josephine acknowledged.  "They are just expressing their desire to see the alliance settled tomorrow, nothing more.  However, we must follow the rules to the letter tonight." 

            Cullen straightened himself up at this slight.  "I have done everything in my power to please Orlais," he snapped, and to his side, he heard Leliana murmur, "Everything, Commander?" 

            "Yes, everything," he growled, rounding on her.  She looked alarmed for the slightest of moments before it vanished under the cool mask she always hid behind.  "Maker's breath, I have given up everything for this alliance, and this is what they accuse me of?  What they accuse the Inquisition of?" 

            Talia avoided his eyes as he shouted, and for a second, he again thought of what it would take to give it all up. 

            "I'm not questioning your commitment, Commander," Josephine said calmly, a counterpoint to his shouts, and he immediately regretted his words. 

            "My apologies, Lady Ambassador, I misspoke," he quickly deferred, and she smiled without her eyes. 

            "As I would have said, given the chance," she continued.  Cullen winced.  "We know you have other duties to uphold, and Celene's safety is chief among them.  But tonight you must ignore all that.  We will update the Iron Bull so he can manage your soldiers.  You must attend to the Grand Duchess, and her alone for the evening." 

            Cullen rolled his eyes.  "I'm aware I must stand with her, but surely I can step aside to direct my men." 

            Josephine was firm.  "Absolutely not.  We cannot risk anything else about the alliance with Orlais.  The standing of the Empire is too questionable." 

            The Inquisitor had been standing with her fists balled at her sides since Josephine brought the issue up, and now it seemed her patience had burned its fuse.  "Josephine, I could not give less of a shite about Orlais and its empire," she said through gritted teeth.  "I care only about the Inquisition.  Not Celene, not the Duchess or the nobles, nothing except our success." 

            "I must say, I agree," Cullen muttered, and she shot him a murderous look, her color rising. 

            "Don't pander to me, Commander," she growled, and Cullen nearly rocked back on his heels, so great was his surprise.  She turned her attention back to Josephine and Leliana.  "We cannot expect that this alliance will fix everything.  The Inquisition must be self-sufficient.  If we cater to the whims of the Empire now, we only leash ourselves to them forever." 

            "What would you suggest, calling off the alliance?"  Leliana laughed. 

            The air in the room went cold. 

            This was the moment they'd argued about only an hour before: The chance to be together, and the hell with everything else.  As he'd said, the Inquisitor alone had the power to change their future.  Cullen could only wonder if he was worth it. 

            But he knew the answer to that question.

            "Of course not," he said before the Inquisitor could speak, and across from him, Talia faltered.  Her shoulders dropped, the powerful stance of the Inquisitor vanishing into the woman he loved as her gaze dropped, eyes searching the floor, the map, anything to ground her.  How he wished he could reach out to her and explain. 

            Perhaps he could.  "Destroying the alliance is not worth how far we've come," he continued.  "But the Inquisitor is right.  We cannot be Orlesian lap dogs if we are to uphold our responsibilities to Thedas." 

            Josephine and Leliana exchanged surprised looks. 

            "We cannot lose sight of our duty," the Inquisitor said quietly, and Cullen's heart broke just a little further at the sadness in her voice.  Duty, that same old thing between them. 

            "I will make the necessary arrangements so the Commander can manage his own men," Josephine said after a beat.  "I… am sure the Empress will understand.  Eventually."  She made a note on her board.  "You will need to be by the Duchess's side as much as possible then, Commander." 

            "Of course, Lady Ambassador," he replied with a bob of his head.  It was small, but it was a victory.  "I will not fail the Inquisition."  He wasn't sure if he said it for Leliana or for the Inquisitor herself, but he clung to it all the same.  He wouldn't fail.  In his heart, he knew he was not worth the alliance, nor the chaos that would follow.  He was broken, barely holding together in this nightmare of a place, and it cost him everything he had to say it.  But he would not fail now. 

            "Leliana, I need you to bring me as much information as possible," the Inquisitor said then, shaking him from his thoughts.  "We don't yet have enough to figure this out." 

            "Of course, Inquisitor," she replied quietly.  "We will be ready when the time comes."  With a short bow, she was gone. 

            Josephine hesitated a moment, seemingly unsure what to say.  "Do not worry, Inquisitor," she said finally, her quill pausing in her hand.  "We will not fail." 

            "I trust you, Josephine," she replied.  She cast a long look at Cullen, who met her green eyes hesitantly.  What would he see there?  Did hatred for him burn now, or just confusion?  Would she understand what he'd done? 

            To his surprise, her eyes were soft and unguarded, and he swallowed around the sudden knot in his throat. 

            "And Commander?"  Her voice was equally soft, almost gentle. 

            "Yes, Inquisitor?"  Hope rose in his chest. 

            "Don't fuck it up," she said, and without another word, she too was gone. 

            Cullen stared after her, the world still falling down around him.   She'd said that to him just an hour ago in the midst of their fight.  She'd said he fucked up everything between them, that he'd been the one to ruin things he'd had no intention of ruining.  

            It was suddenly very, very hard to breathe in this room of planning and masks, and he pushed past Josephine into the hallway without a word. 

            She could have said yes.  She could have jumped on Leliana's suggestion, insisted they find another way to do this without the trappings of a true alliance here.   And in that moment, she had hesitated. 

            There was nothing more to tell. 

            As he walked back to his room, Cullen found that no anger burned in his chest, only that same resignation he'd felt after they argued.  This was how things were to be.  They might be friends, as Dorian had reminded him, but they could never be anything more. 

            Some time later, he was sitting at his desk, eyes scrolling over a report without reading it, when someone knocked on his door.  Before he could get up, it opened. 

            "I thought we could talk," Talia said gently from the doorway, and his heart stopped. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Leave me a note and let me know what you think :)

            Cullen stared at her, sure his sleep-deprived mind was playing tricks on him.  Only when she called, "Cullen?" softly across the room did he shake himself into action. 

            "Come in, Inquisitor," he said before he could think it through, and she stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her. 

            "Hi," she said, not moving. 

            Cullen stood.  "Hello."  They stared at each other for another long moment, Talia's hands playing with the hem of her tunic.  She was still wearing the same casual outfit from that morning, those buckskin leggings she loved clinging to her hips.  If he tried, Cullen could still feel them under his fingers as he pulled her close, and he blushed as a rush of blood vacated to more exotic places.  He couldn't think of her like that, not after what they'd said that morning.   

            "Does Leliana know you're here?" he ventured.  Talking of all the myriad of ways they could get in trouble was sure to cool his thoughts.  And Talia couldn't have forgotten that the Spymaster's room was next door, though it was unlikely that she was there right now.  Nonetheless, in this place they had to protect themselves. 

            Her eyes darted around the room, never quite settling on anything.  "No, but I imagine she'll yell at me if she finds out.  She said she'd talked with you about your behavior at the balls before you got to the meeting this morning."  Those emerald eyes found his for a moment before they moved away. 

            "Um.  Yes, she did," he said, feeling his face flush.  He'd essentially ignored the Spymaster's words, but he did recall the conversation.  "You… said you wanted to talk?" 

            "Yes," she said a little too loudly, and for a second, he wondered what she'd been thinking of while he was busy blushing.  "Do you mind if I…"  She gestured toward the couch in his room. 

            "Maker, yes, I'm sorry," he said, nearly lunging toward her with his hand extended as an escort before he caught himself.  "Please sit," he said, hoping his gesture looked even vaguely natural.  He didn't know what to do with his hands, or where he should stand, or what he could do to make this more comfortable. 

            Talia gave him a small smile as she stepped past him.  She was trying to be tough, holding the Inquisitor before her like a shield, but finally he could see the cracks he'd always looked for.  The corners of her mouth trembled, and though her fingers had dropped her tunic, they were still dancing, folding and unfolding as she could not decide what to do with them. 

            Perhaps there was nothing that would make either of them more comfortable.   

            He followed her across the room.  She sat carefully, fidgeting with the cushions instead of speaking, and Cullen cautiously positioned himself just behind the couch.  If he sat, he'd be too tempted to be close to her; he wanted so badly to touch her, reach for her, kiss her, _anything_ , and he didn't trust himself. 

            Another awkward silence settled over them. 

            "I… wanted to apologize," Talia said eventually.  "For this morning.  I was upset, and I… said some things I shouldn't have." 

            He maneuvered around the arm of the couch before he could stop himself.  "I did the same, Inquisitor," he replied quietly.  "You have no need to apologize to me."  She nodded a little too quickly. 

            "I just… I really don't want you to leave me alone," she whispered. 

            His heart ached with her words.  "I won't.  I'm… I'm so sorry, for everything.  I know things are going to change, but… we're friends." 

            She gave him a small smile.  "I hope so." 

            With a nod, Cullen moved to sit, though he kept himself at the far end of the couch.  "Dorian reminded me… of just how much I need you," he said quietly.  "And it's true.  You're my best friend." 

            "And you're mine," she said, reaching between them.  He hesitated before he extended his hand, their fingers twining together.  "I wish you would call me Talia again," she whispered after a moment. 

            Cullen wasn't sure how to respond.  "I… will try, Inquisitor," he offered, and swallowed hard when she gave him a small smirk.  "It is… difficult." 

            "I know," she said with a sigh.  They fell back into that same uncomfortable silence, unsure what to say.  Apologies between them helped, yes, but he couldn't help feeling that something was still off, still damaged.  Distractedly he rubbed his thumb over her fingers as he held her hand, enjoying the touch of her skin.  He tried to remember the last time he'd held her hand before they came to the Winter Palace.  Sometime after Adamant, he thought.  She'd come to sit with him at the fire near their tents, ostensibly to ask how their soldiers were doing after the battle.  Instead she'd ended up weeping and trembling as she recounted what had happened in the Fade: the tombstones of her companions, the Nightmare crawling under her skin, and the incredible guilt of leaving Stroud behind so they could escape. 

            Even after she'd stopped crying, she'd hung on to his hands, a tiny thing to ground her and remind her why they were fighting.  He'd had to sit and tell her it was going to be okay, even as lyrium withdrawal made him question the very fabric of the world around him.  But it was that night, and that touch, that told him how much she really cared.  When he couldn't handle the withdrawal on his own anymore, he'd felt safe going to her. 

            They'd been each other's lifelines. 

            Shifting closer to her, he extricated his hand to slip it around her shoulders and pulled her to rest against his chest.  She came willingly, her fingers playing with the unlaced collar of his tunic, and she relaxed her head against him.  Cullen smiled to himself.  He'd made many friends since the start of the Inquisition, and yet he couldn't recall ever holding any of them in his arms so often as he'd held the Inquisitor. 

            He'd never thought much of it until now. 

            "You made a good point in the meeting earlier," she ventured when she couldn’t stand the silence anymore. 

            He smiled, though there was little mirth in it.  "You'll have to remind me." 

            "That we cannot be Orlesian lap dogs."  Her fingers drummed against his sternum.  "Though it is fun to picture mabari climbing in Celene's lap." 

            "Yes, well… I'm glad you agree."  She smiled a little, nodding vaguely, before she pulled back to frown at him. 

            "Leliana gave me the chance to call off the alliance," she said suddenly.  Cullen closed his eyes.  "I know I hesitated, but… you spoke up before I could make a decision." 

            "Yes, Inquisitor," he said.  _Maker, please… give me strength._  

            "I could have done it, you know," she continued.  "I still can." 

            He opened his eyes, surprised to find pain in hers.  "I am not worth it, Inquisitor," he said softly, and her expression froze. 

            "Shouldn't I make that decision, Commander?"  When he hesitated, she moved away, slipping from his arms as he watched her go. 

            "Talia, please," he said.  "Listen to me."  With careful movements, he caught her chin in his fingertips and lifted her gaze to meet his eyes.  "You were right.  Things have to change, and this is the best thing for the Inquisition.  This is the best way to protect Thedas, and that's our responsibility." 

            "Cullen," she said, but he shook his head. 

            "I am trying to do the right thing," he interrupted.  "Please let me." 

            "We can find another way to create an alliance," she insisted. 

            "You can't ruin this because of me."  Those dark green eyes stared at him, and he hated himself for the hurt he saw there. 

            "But I want to," she choked on her words, leaning into his palm as she spoke.  "Let me." 

            "I'm sorry," he said quietly.  "I can't allow you to do that.  Not to the Inquisition, and not to yourself."  Ever so slowly, he leaned in and kissed her softly on the mouth.  Her hand snaked up and grabbed the collar of his tunic as he pulled away, trying to keep him close, and he leaned his forehead against hers.  "You know what I've been through.  How broken I am.  I cannot offer you anything." 

            "That's not true," she began, but he interrupted once again. 

            "And you still have Starkhaven."  He felt how she tightened up at the reminder.  The realization had hit him as he'd stared at that Maker-forsaken report, trying and failing to read it.  It didn't matter if she called off the alliance here; all it would do was give them a few weeks to bear the unsettling reality that even if he were free, she was not.  She was engaged, an alliance of her own at the Inquisition's behest, and she could not destroy that too. 

            Not for him. 

            Her hand loosened its grip on his shirt.  "Right.  Starkhaven," she murmured.  Her eyes squeezed shut before she gently pushed him away. 

            He couldn't let her go.  "Talia, I need you to know…" he whispered.  She looked at up him, her hair falling in her eyes, and he carefully tucked it out of the way.  "You were never a distraction to me."  He pulled her into his arms once more, kissing her one last time before he couldn't let himself anymore. 

            To Cullen's surprise, she was smiling a little when she pulled away.  "Andraste's tits," she chuckled as she wiped her eyes.  "We are terrible at this."

            He couldn't help his own sorrowful laugh.  "Undoubtedly so, Inquisitor," he replied.  They both leaned against the couch, pointedly not looking at each other as they pondered what to say.  A question burned in Cullen's chest, and though it took more effort that he wanted to admit, he summoned his courage. 

            "Talia… will you be happy, with him?" 

            Turning, she met his eyes, and they were guarded once again.  "I don't know.  I hardly know him, so..." She studied him for a long moment, perhaps sensing what he needed to hear.  "Eventually, yes.  I think so."    She did not sound quite convinced. 

            "I… I hope so," he offered, and she tried to smile.   

            "Would you like to take a walk with me, Commander?"  She asked after a beat. 

            "I'm… not sure that's a good idea," he replied, though he wanted to say yes.  Spending what little free time remained to him with her sounded so much better than reading reports and organizing troops.  Without a legitimate reason, however, they ran a risk, and Maker knew, they'd done enough to throw the alliance into jeopardy already. 

            Talia gave him a coy smile.  "Perhaps you have troops to inspect, or need to seek out a new piece of armor," she suggested.  "I could walk with you until you've reached your destination." 

            "I don't need anything," he said before he'd thought it through, and Talia raised an eyebrow at him.  "Oh.  Um, yes, Inquisitor, I could use the company to the, uh… blacksmith?"  If they were to laugh and enjoy whatever time they had together, they couldn't be in this room. 

            "Sounds like a plan, Commander," she grinned at him, and when she smiled like that, he couldn't deny her anything. 

            They headed out into the estate grounds, and thankfully they didn't draw any attention.  The more he thought about it, the more Cullen realized how normal it must appear -- everyone saw the Inquisitor and her Commander walking, not Talia and Cullen, and that meant they were safe. 

            He did not dare touch her hand and break the illusion. 

            Walking with her was just as freeing now as it had been this morning, and to his surprise, their conversation was suddenly lighter than it had been in days, perhaps weeks.  So much of their last few days had been dark.  But the world outside the two of them kept moving, and since Cullen had allowed himself to wallow in his misery, aided by his own treacherous mind, he'd missed so much good. 

            Having Talia by his side, friendship or otherwise, helped him remember. 

            The rumors out of Ferelden, she told him cheerfully, said that after close to a decade, King Alistair and his Queen had finally conceived an heir to the throne.  Apparently legislature was under discussion to allow the child to inherit regardless of gender, and Alistair cited his lovely wife as well as the Inquisitor herself with setting the necessary precedents. 

            Cullen couldn't help being proud. 

            In their own ranks, Krem had finally kissed Scout Harding.  Talia was thrilled but also very nearly livid that they'd gotten together when she couldn't be there to buy them their first drinks as a couple, and Cullen chuckled as he listened to her rant about it as they walked.  She and Krem had been close ever since the night of the trebuchets and the stuffed nugs, and he knew she adored Scout Harding.  They sounded like a good match, and he was happy for them, despite the lingering twinge of jealousy. 

            And of course Sera had been wreaking havoc on the nobles of the Orlesian court from her behind-the-scenes position of power.  Leliana had stopped her before she could put bees in the Grand Duchess's rooms at the palace, but she'd somehow added purple dye to the foundations of every member of the Council of Heralds.  Talia couldn't stop giggling as she told him about negotiating with the Earl of something-or-other as he struggled to maintain his composure through a face full of lavender make-up.   And, she warned, he would do well to avoid the cookies at the ball tonight; the mischievous elf had apparently swapped the sugar for salt down in the bakeries, and rumor had it the cooks were going to try to pass it off as intentional since it was too late to bake more. 

            He'd missed a lot.  Thank the Maker he had her to remind him. 

            They paused in their walk as Talia tried to illustrate something inappropriate Iron Bull had done, all big gestures and laughter.  Cullen didn't hear much of it; he was far too consumed in watching how her lips moved when she smiled and the light in her eyes when she laughed.  Her delightfully animated face as she got to her favorite part, her head tilted back with laughter and the Anchor glowing in her palm.  She was perhaps the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. 

            "Cullen?  What is it?" 

            He managed to grunt a response as he watched her eyebrows suddenly knit with concern. 

            "You okay?"  She put a hand on his forearm as she stepped closer.  "You're staring at me." 

            "I'm just… I'm happy.  Right now, in this moment, with you," he said softly, moving to take her hands.  "I wish I could hang on to this feeling forever." 

            A blush spread over her cheeks as she smiled shyly up at him.  "Can I ask you something, Commander?" 

            "Anything." 

            She squeezed his fingers before letting go.  They were in the midst of Halamshiral after all, practically on the doorstep of the Winter Palace and its gardens.  But the smile didn't leave her lips.  "What would our life have been like?" 

            Cullen frowned.  "What do you mean?" 

            "If… things had been different.  If we could have… you know.  Been together.  What would it be like?" 

            _Andraste preserve me._   "Oh… I'm not sure," he admitted truthfully.  Every time he tried to picture it, something stirred from deep inside him and destroyed it.  

            "Do you never think of it?" 

            "I… try not to, honestly."  It was too hard.  But with her by his side, perhaps he could find the strength to ponder this future that could not be. 

            Turning toward the palace, Talia led the way through the gates and around toward the gardens.  The careful landscaping would offer some semblance of privacy, away from the prying eyes of the markets at the very least.  He thought as they walked, no hurry to their movements. 

            "Perhaps… well.  We'd try to keep it a secret, at first," he ventured, taking note of how her eyes lit up.  "But Dorian would figure it out pretty quickly, and Sera would be the one to spread it around." 

            "That sounds right," she laughed. 

            "We'd still play chess, and of course I'd still win," he added, giving her a sideways smirk.  She elbowed him playfully.  "But we… could trade kisses to get our pieces back for the inevitable rematch.  I'd go easy if you asked nicely." 

            "You do that already," she reminded him, and again he flashed her a smile. 

            "I'd keep cookies on hand to bribe you," he offered, and this time she tugged him around to face her. 

            "These are all things we already do, Commander," she said, drawing out his title to tease him.  "Well, for the most part," she hedged, and he knew she was thinking of the kisses.  "I want to know what would change."

            "Well, Inquisitor," he said as he looped his arms around her waist, feeling bold here in the semi-privacy of the gardens.  "We could… sneak away into the chapel when things got hectic, and you would, um, send me love-letters from all over Thedas when you travelled."  Her breath hitched on the word love, and his courage nearly failed when her eyes drifted to his lips.  How he wanted to kiss her again, his foolish notion of never touching her vanished now. 

            "We would have picnics in the library downstairs in the middle of the night, and you'd complain about how cold my bedroom is since the hole in the roof still isn't fixed --" 

            "Your roof has a hole?"  She asked, recoiling at this ridiculous news. 

            "Yes," he replied with a shrug.  "But I'd keep you warm as we looked at the stars together.  When you come home from a mission, back home to me, I would greet you with a warm bath, and, um…"  He blushed but kept going.  "You would tell me about it, your version not just a report, while you got rid of the armor and the dirt, and I would… massage your back and maybe wash your hair for you so you could relax.  So the weight of the Inquisition wasn't so heavy."  The picture kept getting clearer in his mind as he described it, the first time he'd ever given himself the luxury of imagining a life with her, and his eyes burned as he spoke. 

            In his arms, Talia took a deep, wavering breath. 

            Cullen continued, leaning down to press his forehead to hers.  "You'd… keep a change of clothes in my room, and I one in yours so we could spend lonely nights together.  I could wake up to you every morning, and I'd thank the Maker that He'd sent you to me."  Breathing was difficult now, each gust of air stuck deep in his throat as he tried and failed.  "Talia…" 

            Tears were streaming down her face, but she smiled up at him.  "And the evenings?"  She prompted gently, and he inhaled past the knife in his chest. 

            "We… would play chess, or read together.  Surely Varric has more of those awful romance serials you like," he added, a futile attempt to bring humor to this imagining, and she choked out a laugh. 

            "What else?" 

            "I can't, Talia," he whispered, and when she leaned up to kiss him, he met her with every ounce of his strength, of his courage, everything he wanted to be in his broken life that she made true again.  Her soft lips parted, her tongue seeking his, and he opened to her, giving himself up to that future with her warm in his arms, and real. 

            When they needed air more than each other, their lips slipped apart, but Cullen kept her in his arms, refusing to let her go.  "I love you," he breathed into her hair as he held her.  "I love you."  

            She stiffened.  "Cullen…" 

            "No.  Let me say it," he pleaded, moving so he could cup her face in his palms.  Her hands tightened over his wrists, refusing to let him go.  "I love you with everything I am, everything I can possibly give.  I have loved you since I carried you back to camp after Haven, since I watched you fall out of the Fade at the Conclave."  With careful movements, he slanted his mouth over hers once more, and though her shoulders didn't lose any tension, she kissed him back fiercely. 

            "You can't do this to me, Cullen," she breathed when she broke the kiss, her eyes closed against her tears.  "Please." 

            "I needed you to know, just once," he replied, and a sob wracked her body. 

            "Don't do this," she said again, leaning against the protective circle of his hands.  "I can't…" 

            "I'm sorry, Talia," he told her, pressing kisses to her cheeks and forehead.  "I'm a fool who didn't realize it until it was too late, and I'm so sorry.  But it's the truth.  I love you."  He kissed her one more time, lips warm and parted, and tasted the salty trails of her tears on her skin. 

            She shuddered in his arms, her hands fisted in the fabric of his tunic.  Though he held her close, he couldn't let himself cry, not again, and instead he rested his cheek on the top of her head and breathed in the smell of crystal grace, the smell of home. 

            "I need to ask you something, Cullen," she mumbled into his chest eventually. 

            "Anything," he murmured into her hair. 

            Leaning back, she tried to look up at him, and he loosened his arms just enough to let her move.  "What would we do in the evenings?"  Her voice shook still, her eyes too wide in anticipation of his answer. 

            But he didn't understand.  "You… already asked me that," he replied, giving her a confused look. 

            She smiled at him, that knowing smirk she always had when she was teasing him.  "Cullen.  What would we do in the evenings?"  She repeated her question, and it dawned on him. 

            He swallowed. 

            He'd been trying so hard and, thus far, successfully, to avoid thinking of her in that way.  To fall in love with her was one thing, to fantasize… that was something else entirely.  Until just a few weeks before, his spent mind had protected him from even realizing he loved her, insisting that theirs was friendship and nothing more.  He'd never let himself consider anything more. 

            But _Maker_ , to have that chance… He'd been aroused that morning as he kissed her behind some tavern wall, feeling her body warm and pliant in his arms as she pressed herself against him.  His body tingled at the thought of watching her undress, even just in his mind as he pondered a future that would never be.  To hear her ask this, now… He offered up a quick prayer to the Maker that his desire was not as obvious as he felt it to be. 

            "Cullen?"  She prompted softly, and he let out an involuntary groan, knowing he was going to tell her what he'd denied he'd ever dreamed about, fighting down the tension pooling low in his belly. 

            "At night… We would hold each other close," He began, clearing his throat when the words stuck.  The desire, the intimacy he really wanted, bubbled up, and he found himself pouring out what he'd never said before.  "I would show you the scars I never let anyone see, the ones that I… am most ashamed of, from my mistakes.   And we… we'd touch each other," he said, and her breath left her in a rush against his skin.  "We'd make love so we never forgot why we mattered in the daylight.  We'd find strength again together, and …"  Tears ran down his face now, all the pain he'd been holding back, everything he'd never been able to say, and she wrapped herself around him, her lips seeking his as she held him together. 

            "Make love to me, Cullen," she whispered as she cupped his face.  "Just once, before we give everything up.  I can't…"  A sound that might have been a sob wavered under her words.  "I need you.  Please." 

            All the air was sucked out of his lungs. 

            "I… I don't know what to say," he managed, his head suddenly foggy. 

            "Say yes," Talia said softly.  "Please." 

            He stared at her, feeling the warmth of her hands against his skin, the calluses on her fingers from her daggers, and he hesitated.  Maker, how did he hesitate? 

            "We can't," he breathed. 

            Hurt flickered through Talia's eyes.  "Don't say duty," she said.  "We've let duty part us long enough." 

            "But…"  But wasn't that the truth?  Didn't they have a duty to uphold, to care for Thedas and put their own desires aside for the greater good?  He looked away with a groan.  "I want to be with you," he whispered.  "But we have to do the right thing." 

            Her fingertips dug into his skin.  "Fuck doing the right thing," she growled, and Cullen recoiled at the vehemence coming from her lips.  "I'm the _Inquisitor_.  I spend every moment of my life doing the right thing, and I get nothing in return.  You know I don't even get paid? Everything goes right back into the Inquisition coffers."   He had known that; she'd joked about having to talk Dorian into buying her new underwear before.  What he hadn't known was how much it bothered her. 

            "Talia…" he began, reaching up to take her hands in his, but she interrupted. 

            "This is the one thing I want for myself.  The one thing I have wanted all along, and I can't have you, Cullen." 

            "I don't want to hurt you," he said through gritted teeth.  Maker, how he wanted to say yes.  But he didn't know if he could stand to touch her only once -- a few days ago, he'd told himself that he only needed that one kiss, just enough to know what it was like, and now he didn't think he could live if he could never kiss her again. 

            And yet this… To know her so intimately was a luxury he thought he'd never have. 

            "You can't," she breathed, interrupting his thoughts.  His heartbeat raced at the husk in her voice.  "You won't."  The anger had leeched from her voice, leaving only hope behind.

            At some point, he must have closed his eyes, for he had to open them now.  "Would you… that is, I'm worried… that you'd regret it." 

            Her green eyes searched his.  "Would you?" 

            "Never," he said fiercely, and she pressed a kiss to his scar, sending a shiver down his spine. 

            "Then why should I?"  She whispered in his ear, her lips brushing his skin, and his fingertips dug into the flesh of her back through her shirt. 

            "Because I am damaged, Talia," he told her, the same demons he could never shake rearing up once again.  "And you are perfect.  How can someone so incredible want someone like me?  How could you not regret it?" 

            "Because, Cullen, I --"  _love you_ , his mind filled in, and though she'd stopped herself, voice cracking as she did, he kissed her as though she'd never stopped, as though he'd been able to be selfish that day on the battlements and say yes to her then, as though he could make up for all those lost months between them now. 

            When they broke apart, Talia was breathing hard, and she clung to him to keep herself upright.  "This morning, I thought this was the last thing I wanted," he told her, hands keeping her close.  "I thought it would make everything worse.  But I… I think I was wrong -- I cannot survive without you." 

            "Cullen," she gasped, and he kissed her greedily, swallowing every sound. 

            "If this is how it has to be," he continued after he'd regained a touch of control.  "Then… please, let me make love to you so… so we can have this together." 

            "Truly," she asked, leaning her forehead against his. 

            "Truly," he replied, adjusting to kiss her skin.  "I just… I don't want to hurt you.  I didn't want to make a mistake, or have this be something you'd regret."  He leaned back to meet her eyes and took a deep breath.  "But I would burn the Winter Palace down around us if only so I could have you."   

            It wasn't true; every future he imagined with her, without the Inquisition, was a world where Corypheus won.  Every time he closed his eyes, the demons in his head insisted that Talia died in that future, and he couldn't live with that thought, with that possibility. 

            He couldn't have that future, just as he couldn't have her.  But for a few hours, they could have each other, and that little sanctuary would have to be enough. 

            Talia stepped further into his arms and buried her face against his chest.  "You've always had me," she whispered, her arms tight around his neck, and he held her close, wishing he could protect her from the demands of the world. 

            They stood this way for a long time.  The gardens surrounding them were still, quiet, and they took advantage of this small privacy to just be. 

            When Talia finally extricated herself from Cullen's arms, her eyes were dry.  "Come with me," she said softly, backing slowly away from him without relinquishing his hand.  "I want to show you something." 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just an FYI: This chapter references Talia's backstory but doesn't go in-depth. If you're interested, you can read [this story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5767585) and get all the juicy details. 
> 
> More importantly: Smut ahead! angsty smut, to be sure, but still smut :) Enjoy!

            They wound through the gardens, keeping their leisurely pace though Talia's eyes sparkled with mischief.  Cullen was content to follow her.  He didn't know where they were going, nor how they would accomplish the febrile dream they'd set for themselves.  But she knew her way, and her hand stayed safe in his, a silent promise.   

            The gardens were surprisingly empty.  Later the courtyards would be filled with nobles clamoring for a glimpse of the Empress or the Inquisitor, gathering to see and be seen at the Winter Palace, but for now, they alone wandered through the grounds.  Talia twisted and turned, pausing to get her bearings, and Cullen followed, surprised when they suddenly passed the entrance to the Grand Apartments they'd used only the night before.  He had not realized they were so close. 

            But Talia didn't stop.  Instead she led him past the tiny garden alcove where she'd kissed him the night before, the fountain he'd passed on his way to her aid, and through a tunnel of trellises that arched overhead, covered in lush vines and embrium blossoms.   Cullen tried to memorize everything as they walked, wishing he could hang on to every moment. 

            Too soon the gardens opened into a small courtyard opposite the Grand Apartments.  This side looked less polished, more real somehow, as though the people who visited here weren't as concerned with appearances and frivolities as the rest of Orlais.  Its landscapes grew with tall trees and elegant blossoms he couldn't name, the edifice of the Winter Palace rising above it all. 

            "We're almost there," Talia said softly when he paused to look around, and he followed her gaze to a lamppost in the far corner.  Nearly hidden by foliage, a slim staircase led up into shadows along the palace walls until he couldn't see it anymore.  He followed Talia to its base, hesitating on the first step, and she turned to face him. 

            "Is this," he began, swallowing around a lump in his throat.  "That is, are you sure you want to do this?" 

            She kissed him softly, her position on the step bringing her closer to his height, and he resisted the urge to pull her into his arms.  The staircase felt so exposed without the gardens to conceal them. 

            "Of course I am," Talia said when their lips parted.  "Are you?" 

            "Yes." 

            She smiled, her eyes soft.  "Then follow me."  They climbed the stairs to the landing above, and for a second Cullen wasn't sure where she meant them to go.  But Talia led him around the far corner to reveal a ladder leading into shadow above them.  If he squinted, he could just make out a broken railing at the top.  "Almost there," she reassured him, dropping his hand to haul herself up the ladder.  Her steps were quick and measured, and within seconds, she'd made it to the top. 

            He smiled to himself -- she never ceased to amaze him.  Quickly he followed, and his mouth fell open. 

            They'd emerged onto the balcony of a small but ornate bedroom, complete with a enormous bed, a writing desk, drawers, and a vanity.  Two small braziers sat just inside the arched doorways as though waiting to be lit, and a blue door stood in the far corner, an elaborate match to all the others in the Winter Palace. 

            "Talia, is this…"  Cullen cleared his throat.  "Is this place safe?"  It was beautiful, perfect, but he couldn't shake the anxiety that had bubbled up at the sight of that door. 

            "It leads into what looks like a chapel," she answered, opening it.  She glanced through.  "I found it yesterday while I was exploring the palace.  It's empty now, and… " She closed the door and crouched before it, plucking something from her belt and inserting it into the lock.  She fiddled with it for a moment before something clicked, and she stepped back.  "It's locked.  We should be safe here." 

            "I… hope so," he said, giving her a lopsided smile.  Something was eating at the back of his mind, and though climbing a ladder into a bedroom reminded him of his office at Skyhold, he couldn't shake it. 

            "Cullen?"  She asked, looking curiously at him.  It clicked, and he stepped back onto the balcony and grabbed the ladder, pulling it up and out of reach of anyone who might wander past below. 

            "Now I agree with you," he said with a smile, and she giggled. 

            They stared awkwardly at each other for a moment, shy smiles and red faces all around before Cullen summoned his courage.  This wasn't ideal, of course not, but what about their relationship was?  He'd been given a chance, and Void take everything else, he wasn't going to waste it. 

            He stepped closer to her.  "May I…"  he began, extending a hand to brush her cheek, and she leaned into his touch. 

            "Please do."  With this small permission, he leaned in to kiss her, bopping her nose with his playfully before their lips met.  He kept kiss after kiss warm and light, teasing her with his tongue until she was clinging to him.  He skimmed his hands up her sides, his thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts as he pulled her closer.  It felt like she could not be close enough, too many layers of fabric between them, but he paused when she grabbed handfuls of his shirt and reached to still her hands. 

            "Wait," he whispered into their kiss, and she leaned back to look at him.  "Please.  Let me imagine it's real." 

            "I don't understand," she told him softly, her hands loosening in his shirt. 

            Cullen reached for the clasps of her tunic, undoing them slowly as he spoke.  "If we were… at Skyhold," he began, not quite sure how to explain.  "And… this was our first time…"  His fingertips brushed the tops of her breasts as he undid the clasp there, and she drew a hitching breath.  "I wouldn't want to rush." 

            It was her turn to still his hands, and he hesitantly met her eyes.  "I want this to be real too," she murmured, and he smiled.  "As if… as if tomorrow isn't happening." 

            Nodding, Cullen fought down the lump in his throat at the thought.  Instead, though he broke their gaze, he undid the rest of her clasps and slid his hands inside the shirt along her belly.  Her skin was warm, soft against his callused hands, and as he moved the bottom of her shirt out of the way, he could see a long, gnarled scar that crossed her abdomen.  He glanced up at her as he brushed his thumb over it. 

            "Can… I ask what happened?"  he said quietly, and she gave him a half smile. 

            "I got hurt in the Circle," she replied but didn't elaborate. 

            Cullen closed his eyes for a moment, fighting down the memories that threatened to erupt at the mention of her strained relationship with the Order.  He'd known she'd been sent there as a teen, a plot on the part of her eldest brother to disgrace her in the eyes of their father, and he'd known she'd been abused there; he'd just never suspected she was as physically marked as he. 

            "I'm so sorry," he said, placing his palm over the scar.  Its ends crept beyond his reach, and he squirmed to think of what must have caused it. 

            Talia put a hand over his.  "It was a long time ago," she replied.  "But… I like that you know about it."  She tried to smile.  "Something little we can share." 

            "I like that too."  He skirted his hands up her body before he slid her shirt from her shoulders, feeling the muscle under her skin as he pushed it down her arms.  Then she was bare before him, her skin flushed against the plain cotton of her breastband.  He could just see the hardened peak of her nipples through the fabric, and when he brushed his thumb over one hesitantly, she let out a low moan, her eyes drifting shut. 

            When he kissed her this time, his movements were near frantic with the sudden need to touch all of her, feel her skin, know her body, and this time when she bunched his shirt in her hands, he didn't stop her.  They disengaged just enough to get his head through the collar before crashing together again, her hands roving hot over his chest as she tried to touch every inch of skin.  His erection throbbed heavy against his leg, the press of her body electric against his, and he fumbled with the ties of her band in his hurry to undress her.  She wasn't helping, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the lines of his chest and the scars that littered his skin.  Pulse racing, he fought to get closer, trying to kiss her and touch her and everything else all at once, when suddenly she slid her hand along the front of his trousers. 

            Cullen froze.  It had been a long time, years even, since anyone else had touched him, and he knew Talia could see that in his face.  She paused with him, her lips curved in a soft smile.  Her hand didn't move, just rested over the bulge of his arousal, and he fought for control, fought not to roll his hips into her hand or pick her up to carry to the waiting bed. 

            "Is this okay," she asked softly, and he looked down to find such warmth in her eyes that what little shield remained around his heart melted. 

            "Yes, I just --"  He groan as she squeezed with his permission, pleasure shooting through his body. 

            "Just what?"  She did it again, lighter this time, and he rested his forehead against hers. 

            "It's been a very long time," he told her honestly. 

            Talia leaned up to kiss him, her lips soft as they molded to his.  "We're in no hurry," she whispered, voice shaking a little with the lie.  She squeezed him one more time before letting go, running her hand up his abs and chest to curl into his hair, and his eyes rolled back at the feel of her touch along his skin. 

            His hands once more found their way to her breastband.  A low moan left her lips as he finished unlacing it and eased it off, his fingertips just brushing the sensitive skin.  "Maker," he breathed as he pulled back to look at her, his hands resting along her sides. 

            Talia giggled.  His eyes sprang up to meet hers, a smirk already tugging at his lips, and he moved one hand to cup her face.  "You are beautiful," he told her, tucking her hair behind her ear. 

            She pressed a kiss to the long, silvery scar that crossed one side of his chest.  "As are you," she replied with a smirk of her own. 

            "I can't believe I have you now only to lose you," he said, and she stopped him with a hand on his chest. 

            "Don't do that, Cullen," she warned.  "Forget about all that, and just be with me." 

            "It's too hard," he said, shaking his head a little, and she snorted. 

            "I know what else is hard," she teased, hooking a finger into the waistband of his trousers.  "Come here."  Despite himself, he chuckled -- he was only getting in his own way, and she wasn't going to let him do that.  Not now, not with this. 

            With a tug on his pants, Talia led him toward the bed, and his cock twitched as his eyes drifted over her body, taking in the long lines of muscle in her torso, the curve of her hips and the swell of her breasts.  When her legs bumped the bed, she let herself fall backwards and he tumbled down with her, catching his weight on his forearms.  One long leg wrapped itself around his hips, grinding his erection against her, and he groaned, lips seeking hers as she arched up against him.  Her hands raked down his back, digging in just enough to let him feel it, and he nipped her lower lip before he kissed down her throat to her chest. 

            "Cullen," she gasped when he nipped her collarbone.  Quickly he soothed the bite with his tongue before moving lower, nipping and kissing as he went.  His hands moved to cup her breasts, feeling her nipples harden in his palms.  He paused with his forehead to her sternum, loving how perfectly her body fit his hands.  He would touch her every day for the rest of his life if he could. 

            The thought should have stopped him.  He couldn't touch her perhaps ever again, but instead of filling him with dread, it only pushed his lust higher, his desire to give her as much pleasure as possible nearly overpowering as he sucked a nipple into his mouth.  She cried out, her nails scratching his scalp, and heat flooded his lower body, his cock throbbing almost painfully against the confines of his smalls.  _Maker_ , but he'd never heard a more beautiful sound.  Quickly he moved to catch her other nipple, his fingers tracing patterns across her neglected skin. 

            "Cullen," she gasped out, tugging lightly at his hair.  "I need you." 

            With his mouth still on her breast, he ran his hands down her stomach to the top of her leggings.  His fingertips danced over the delicate skin there, teasing gently as he worked them under the band, and he laughed out loud when she flinched away. 

            "I knew you were ticklish, just not there," he told her, looping his arms around her waist so he could rest his chin on her chest. 

            "That's a… private, um, place," she said, blushing, and he pushed himself up onto his hands to kiss her lips. 

            "I'm glad I know about it too," he said softly when he pulled away.  She reached for him, likely to pull him back down to her, but he sat back on his heels, his hands tucked in the waistband of her leggings.  He tugged a little, touch firm so he didn’t tickle her again, and looked up to meet her eyes. 

            They were dark with want, pupils dilated against the rich green of her irises, and her gaze followed his movements as he slowly revealed the skin of her legs.  He could see the shallow rise and fall of her chest as she watched.  But barely to her knees, he had to pause. 

            "Why'd you stop?"  Her voice held a note of concern, like she worried that he'd had second thoughts or fallen ill, but nothing so dire. 

            "Your boots are still on," he informed her, laughter in his voice. 

            Talia sat up, her breasts bouncing with the movement. "Shit," she muttered.  He watched her work, those nimble fingers flying down the complicated laces, and couldn't help imagining what other things her hands could do.  His cock twitched at the thought. 

            "You know," Talia said as she pulled the first boot off.  "You've got boots on too."  Cullen looked at his legs; he'd quite forgotten, so used to moving with the weight of his armor that the boots hadn't once hindered him.  But quickly he unlaced his as well, tossing them haphazardly aside just as she finished with the second one. 

            Before she could grab him -- indeed, her hand was already reaching out -- he caught her around the waist to ease her down.  She clung to him, her mouth seeking his, and he gave in, the heat of her mouth and rough slide of her tongue so arousing he couldn't think straight.  He wanted to touch her, pleasure her, and _Maker_ he wanted to fuck her, but this was too fast.  He only got this one time; he wanted, needed, to savor it.

            Carefully he extricated himself from her arms, hands roaming over her body as he did, and soon he was kneeling over her again, hands continuing their work in peeling her leggings from her body.   When they were but a crumpled pile on the floor, he ran his hands along her skin, using her legs as a guide back up to her smalls.  She didn't say anything as his fingertips grasped the edges, but her sharp breath was enough permission; he bent and kissed each inch of pale skin as he revealed it, mouthing gently along the trimmed hair that covered her center. 

            "Cullen!"  She squealed when he flicked his tongue briefly over her clit, arousal glistening along the tops of her thighs, but he kept moving down, lips following her smalls as he worked them off.  Finally she lay bare before him, her breasts moving with her breath and her knees crossed self-consciously. 

            He ran his hand up her calf, her skin so soft against the roughness of his palms, and paused when he reached her knee.  "I want to see you,"  he said quietly, putting gentle pressure on her legs to push them apart.  When she blushed, he stretched out over her to kiss her again, letting his fingers drag over the apex of her thighs as he did.  Beneath him, Talia shivered. 

            "Only if I get to see you," she whispered, her voice husky, and he felt her hands tugging at the laces to his trousers.  She pressed up against him, her kiss insistent as she sucked hard on his tongue, and his cock jerked in his smalls.  Quickly he nodded, face pressed against hers, and she deftly untied him.  Her legs rose as though to wrap around him, and to his surprise, her feet pushed his trousers down, his smalls with them.  A groan slipped out as his cock sprang free, stiff and hot in the open air, and her hand wrapped around him immediately.  "Maker," he gasped, swallowing down a curse just as she rolled her hips up to graze his thigh with her arousal. 

            He slid to the bed beside her, his knees suddenly unable to support his weight.  The hand that had been caressing her breast trailed down her side to grab her bottom, and she kissed him hard as he pulled her thigh around his hips.  Talia pushed herself against him, her nipples rasping through his chest hair and leaving tingles in their wake. 

            One hand was still wrapped around him, touch teasing.  "I want you," she gasped, rolling her hips just so to catch the shaft of his dick with her core.  She was so wet, her arousal hot against him, that Cullen had to pull back to fight for control. 

            Closing his eyes, he took several deep breaths.  His heart was racing, pulse so loud he was sure she could hear it, but when she was flushed and naked beside him, it was difficult to care.  He wanted her so much; the edges of his control frayed with each brush of their skin, each throb of his erection.  But he also didn't want to frighten her or make her think he didn't want her somehow -- soon enough, they'd both be hurting.  He wouldn't do that to her now. 

            So when he started to maneuver their lower bodies apart so he could run his fingers along her thigh, he leaned down to kiss her, lips apart and wanting as he did.  She met him eagerly, passion burning just under their skin.  Her fingernails dug into his bicep as his hand brushed over her core, drawing out a surprised gasp, and he smiled into the kiss.  Everything about her was wet and beautiful, heat rolling off her body as he urged her legs apart. 

            "May I touch you?"  He combed his finger through the short curls between her legs as he spoke, and she gave a quiet moan. 

            "Please, Cullen."  Another moan slipped out as he ran his touch along her folds, delving in to feel the warmth of her arousal.  He drew light circles over her clit to tease her, his fingers dancing along her slit and his touch firmer as he explored her.  Pressed against her leg, his cock twitched and throbbed, the desire to sink into her nearly overwhelming when he rubbed her clit harder and she cried out into his mouth. 

            Suddenly she rolled her hips into his hand, his finger slipping toward her slick entrance, and he kissed her hard, plunging his tongue into her mouth just as his finger breached her.  He slid in with ease, crooking his finger gently to seek that spot he knew would drive her pleasure higher.  Talia moved with him, adjusting her hips as she fucked herself on his hand until he found the right place, the right pressure, and she cried out again. 

            She spread her legs further, urging his fingers deeper inside, and his erection brushed her skin.  Cullen couldn't help it; he rolled his hips against her thigh, needing relief, needing some connection in this pleasure.  Beside him, she was so tight, so hot, her lips parted as she gasped for breath under his touch. 

            "More," she breathed, nearly panting.  He grazed the heel of his hand over her clit as he tweaked his finger inside her, and she bucked up.  "Cullen, please." 

            His palm was soaked with her now, and another finger stretched her as he eased it inside her walls.  She clenched and cried out, grasping ineffectually at his arm as he moved to kiss down her throat.  The draw of her skin led him down to her breasts, where he drew patterns with his tongue until he sucked one of her taut nipples into his mouth.  Despite how he wanted so, he couldn't leave marks against her flesh, just as she couldn't mark him, but oh how he wanted to.  His hand sped up, driving her pleasure higher as he felt himself grow impossibly harder pressed against her leg. 

            "Maker, I want you," he hissed in her ear.  One of her hands flew up to grasp his head, fingers buried in his hair, and she pulled him to her lips for a scorching kiss. 

            "I'm so close, Cullen," she gasped. "And I want you so much." 

            He didn't respond, only pushed his fingers deeper into her body, rubbing her clit faster as he kissed her.  She tightened on him as he pressed his tongue into her mouth, swallowing the sounds she made as he fingered her.  His intentions had been to draw this out, to tease her and keep her for that much longer, but he found he couldn't do it -- all he wanted was to see her fall apart in his arms. 

            Shifting to tuck his other arm under her, Cullen threw one leg over hers, groaning at the press of her weight against his cock.  She met every movement of his fingers inside her, each thrust of her hips digging his hand harder against her core, and he caught each gasp and moan as though he could hang onto them forever.  When she stiffened in his arms, her cunt tight around his fingers, he wished just for a moment that he really had given it all up for her before she nearly wailed as her climax crashed over her. 

            He coaxed her through the waves of her pleasure, crooking his fingers to draw it out before he slid them from her body.  Talia collapsed, her chest heaving, and he admired the movement of her breasts as he sucked his fingers into his mouth.  A jolt went through him as he tasted her, rich and arousing.  A drop of pre-cum beaded out of his cock and got rubbed away into her skin as he leaned his hips against her. 

            With a sly smile, she suddenly rolled to straddle him, forcing him down onto his back with the movement.  Her hands caught his, pulling one from his mouth to pin them down on either side of his head.  Cullen lay a willing prisoner, feeling her cunt leak along his thighs as she positioned herself over him. 

            "Stay still," she whispered, blowing him a kiss.  He nodded, curious what she was doing but content to let her take control for a moment.  The taste of her lingered on his tongue.  For a moment, he regretted not pleasuring her with his mouth, the chance to lick and explore her body overwhelmingly arousing, but he forgot about it as one hand wrapped around him.  She pumped him slowly, thumb brushing against his head with each pass as she reached to fondle his balls with her free hand.  When she squeezed gently, his eyes rolled back in his head.  

            "Maker's breath, that feels good," he forced out, trying to fight the tightening in his gut.  Though he had himself under control, he knew it wouldn't last if she kept on like that.  "Talia, please," he said a few strokes later.  "I… don't want to ruin things." 

            She leaned down, her breasts brushing his chest as she kissed him.  "I like seeing you like this," she told him, and with a groan, he caught her head in his hands, burying his fingers in her dark hair.  She sped up a tiny bit, inspiring a rush of pleasure, and he thrust into her hands, nearly unseating her from his lap.  With a chuckle, she let go and leaned back.  Her hands ran up and down her body, and he watched, mesmerized as her fingertips teased her nipples.   

            "Tell me what you want," she commanded softly, her voice husky.  His eyes still followed her hands, and he fought back a moan to see one slide between her legs. 

            "I want you," he told her, his own hands sliding down her arms before settling on her hips.  "I want to be inside you."  To his surprise, he didn't blush. 

            "I want that too," Talia replied.  The hand between her legs reached for his cock, her desire slicking him as she wiggled into position.  She dragged the head of him through her folds as he fought the urge to thrust, and then he was inside her, her walls parting like silk at his intrusion.  "Maker, Cullen," she groaned as he stretched her, slowly filled her, and he held onto her hips as his lifeline as her body gripped him tight, so tight. 

            She took a long time to accept him, and he fought for control as her hips finally settled against his.  It had been a long time for him, and equally for her as she cried out with the first slight movement of his cock inside her.  "Slow, slow," she begged, her eyes closed. 

            Cullen nodded as he tried to loosen his grip.  She felt so good, hot and soaked for him, but he couldn't leave her marked, his hands embedded into her flesh.  He had to give her up; this was only the beginning.  But when Talia lifted herself carefully before lowering again, taking him just a little further, he couldn't think straight anymore, all dark thoughts abandoning him.  There was only her, them, together this once, and he loved her. 

            He slid his hands around to cup her ass and helped her lift before pulling her down to meet him.  She moved with him, rolling her hips to move his cock inside her, and he moaned out his approval as he watched her breasts shift with the movement.  This wasn't how he'd pictured them being together;  in the rare moments he wasn't strong enough to fight the vision away, he'd imagined cradling her beneath his weight, perhaps having her thrown across his desk or some such display of dominance and how desperately he needed her. 

            But he couldn't deny how gorgeous she looked impaled on his cock, her lips framing low moans of pleasure as her clit ground against him with each thrust.  If he tried, he could see where they were joined, her body accepting him slick and ready for her.  He could see her eyes rolling shut, the sweat on her brow and the mess of her hair.  He loved how he could hold her hips to guide her or trail his fingers up her body to massage her breasts.   And most of all, he loved the chance to memorize her face as she took him and he gave himself to her. 

            He sat up suddenly under her, his hands raking her back and holding her tight against his chest so he could catch her lips with his.  A groan left her as his pelvis rubbed her clit.  Her body clenched around him, her hands dug into his curls.  "Cullen, please," she whimpered into his mouth, and he thrust hard, making them both cry out. 

            "What do you need?"  He managed through the haze of pleasure rolling through him. 

            She rested her forehead against his, never stilling atop him.  "Fuck me hard, Cullen," she said, punctuating her request with a rough thrust of her hips.  "Please.  I need to feel you." 

            He nodded as he kissed her again.  Using his arms around her body, he lifted her gently and moved so he could lean her back.  His member slipped out as she lay down, bobbing in the cool air, and Talia gave him a wicked smile as she spread her legs. 

            "Come here," she said with a crook of her fingers.  Cullen shifted so he could lay over her, careful not to drop his full weight on her.  She caught his cock with her hand, guiding him into her depths once more, and he groaned long and low to feel her body welcome him in. 

            "Maker, you feel amazing," he told her, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her neck and shoulders as he let his hips rest against hers.  He tucked his arm under her to hold her shoulders as he thrust gently, letting their momentum build as he enjoyed the feel of her writhing under him.  Her nipples rasped through his chest hair, her hands scratched along his back, and he couldn't help it; he grabbed her ass, pulling her leg tight over his hips, and started thrusting harder, stoking their pleasure higher.  Like before, he'd meant to take it slowly, savor their joining somehow, but if he opened his eyes, he could see her pupils dilated, the tendons standing out in her neck as she gasped at the feel of him, and there was nothing he could do to go back. 

            All he wanted was to feel her come apart around him, to join her in that moment, and his lower body tightened at the thought. 

            Beneath him, Talia was whispering all sorts of demands and pleas to the Maker, her throaty breaths his undoing as he fucked her harder, faster, and she clung to him.  This was beyond anything he'd ever imagined, this was _perfect_ \-- nothing else existed beyond this bed, this tiny room in a garden somewhere.  No Inquisition, no alliance, no Orlais: the world was just them, and everything else had fallen away. 

            She kissed him roughly, pulling him back to her.  "I want this, just you, forever," she whispered between kisses, and his chest nearly exploded with the squeeze of her words.  He couldn't say anything back, couldn't even get out that he loved her, it was too much.  Instead he bent and kissed away the tears that slipped down her temple.  Turning her face into his, she kissed his cheek, neck, jaw, anything she could reach, and he closed his eyes against the burning of his own tears. 

            Her body tightened around him as he moved within her, and he knew she was getting close.  One hand still buried in his hair, she slid her other between them to touch herself, pulling herself closer to the edge with each circle.  He thrust harder as she whispered encouragement in his ear, his gut tightening like a bow string about to snap.  Everything was fast and messy, his hips no longer keeping any sort of rhythm as he drove her and she drove him, pushing him forward with her legs wrapped around his hips.    

            Cullen was barely holding himself up, barely hanging onto his control when Talia arched up into him as she tumbled over the edge.  She nearly screamed and he dove against her lips, catching every sound as he let go.  His cock jerked as he came hard, spilling himself within her, and she cried out again at the sensation.  Each clench of her body pushed him onward, his orgasm stretching out until his arms couldn't support him anymore.  Talia held him close as she took his weight, hands carding through his hair and down his shoulders, and for a long while, they lay together, hearts pounding and chests heaving as they recovered. 

            "Don't go just yet," she whispered when he started to push himself off so he didn't crush her.  "Stay, stay with me." 

            "I'm not going anywhere," he told her, carefully withdrawing himself from her body.  As he rolled to his side, she moved with him.  She slung her leg over his hip and kissed him slowly before she snuggled against his chest in a warm haze where nothing else mattered.  He was vaguely aware that his shoulders ached -- she must have scratched at the old scars there at some point -- but with the gentle brush of her breath against his cheeks, he didn't care. 

            For a long while, they lay entangled in each other.  Her body was warm in his arms, and he trailed his fingertips up and down her sides, eyes closed as he savored the softness of her skin.  His mind was blissfully blank.  No cares or worries flitted through his thoughts, no to do lists or requisitions to distract him from this stolen moment.  Cullen had never experienced that kind of clarity, not even with lyrium;  He spent so much time living in his head, wondering what was coming next and planning for the impossible.  But this… this was a peace he'd never known.  This was sheer, unadulterated happiness, and with a brush of his nose against Talia's, he kissed her for it:  a thank-you for a gift she'd never know she'd given. 

            The edges of his mind started going foggy with the first hint of sleep, and he didn't fight it.  Her hand was playing idly with his curls and her lips were millimeters from his; he could think of no reason to stay awake, and every reason to rest in her arms. 

            Some part of him must have known it couldn't last. 

            He didn't know how much later, but gradually he became aware that her hands had stopped their gentle movements.  She felt stiff against him now, and with great effort, he opened his eyes.  Hers were already open, studying him in the dim light of their little haven. 

            "Are you all right?" 

            She shook her head, forehead damp against his.  "Of course not.  I have to let you go," she said quietly. 

            Cullen closed his eyes to avoid her tears.  It was cowardly, that much he knew, but she was right -- this was the end.  "Perhaps we have just a little longer," he suggested, his voice a whisper, and she frowned. 

            "You know we don't." 

            He did know, he just didn't want to admit it.  The ball tonight was the last of his alliance duties before the wedding, and as Josephine had reminded him earlier, it must go perfectly.  Talia had to finish her talks with the other members of the Council of Heralds before the true negotiations tomorrow night.  There were soldiers who needed orders, nobles who needed wooing, and somewhere, Cullen was sure Josephine was having a heart attack because the Commander and the Inquisitor had both vanished. 

            Despite all this, he couldn't let her go. 

            Her green eyes still studied him when he finally had the courage to look at her.  "I… know I told you this before," he said, cupping her face gently in his palm.  "But I am so sorry I missed the chance to be with you before.  Now I find… I just don't want to lose you." 

            Talia gave him a small smile.  "That doesn't make sense, Cullen.  We knew what this was." 

            "No, I mean, I… can't lose you, your friendship, something of what we have," he explained, sitting up and pulling her with him.  She shifted away so she could sit on the rumpled bedspread instead of his lap. 

            "Things have to change," she insisted, and he scooted after her, unwilling to give up the tiniest space between them. 

            "I know," he replied as he ran his hands up and down her back.  "I know that, I do.  But… I still need you.  To play chess, and laugh late at night, and have someone look after me when I don't eat.   I need to worry about you when you travel, and I need you to still send me notes and come visit when you're bored."  His voice was breaking, the tears he'd been fighting off coming through, but it didn't bother him now.  "That's been our whole relationship, and… I can't survive without it, I've found." 

            She gave him a pleading look.  "Don't do that to me, Cullen."

            "Do what?"

            "Say all those things just to make me feel guilty.  We can't be anything, Cullen.  Don't say all that like we belong together." 

            She tried to pull away, but he stopped her.  "Talia… We do belong together." 

            "Stop it, Cullen," she said, one arm rising to cover her exposed chest.

            "I won't," he said.  Every argument against them paled in comparison to a future without her.  With careful movements, he held her jaw and kissed her slowly, the same warm kiss he'd dreamed of giving her so many months ago, the same he'd been able to give her just a few moments ago.  She kissed him back, but it felt off, desperate somehow, the last kiss of a dying sun.  When they parted, Cullen kept his eyes closed, resting his forehead against hers.  "Call it off." 

            Talia recoiled.  "What?" 

            He stared at her, expression hopeful.  He didn't know what made him ask, knowing what must be her answer.  "The alliance.  Call it off." 

            "I can't."  She scrambled backward, nearly falling off the bed in her hurry.  "Cullen, no.  The Inquisition, Orlais… You were right before." 

            "About what?" 

            "Our responsibility to Thedas,"  she whispered as she reached for her clothes.  A sinking, spinning feeling swept over him.  He'd always known this was how it must end. 

            "I thought… that is, I hoped…"  He stuttered, but he couldn't finish.  Talia didn't say anything more, only dressed quickly in silence. 

            Cullen watched with unfocused eyes, his entire future tumbling before him.  This was it. His last moments with her, and there was nothing there to salvage. 

            He still hadn't moved when Talia finished dressing and came to stand before him.  With great effort, he looked up and met her eyes.  She leaned in hesitantly, brushing her forehead against his face before she pressed a soft kiss to his stubbly cheek.  "I'm sorry, Cullen," she murmured, and though she seemed to want to say more, she pulled away.  "I have to get back." 

            Cullen couldn't bring himself to speak, only nod his understanding. 

            He heard her fumble with the ladder as she lowered it down, breaching the safety of their hiding place.  Likely he should have worried, still sitting naked on the bed, but he didn't care. 

            Talia looked back once, and though her voice shook, she managed a quiet "Goodbye," before she climbed down and walked away. 

 


	15. Chapter 15

            He barely noticed the hours that passed between the moment she left and the start of the ball.  Somewhere in that time, he'd bathed and dressed, set rotations and duties for his men, and met with Josephine about his duties for the evening.  He'd cleaned the blood from his boots, eaten dinner, and read last-minute reports.  He'd even polished his mask and placed it carefully on his face. 

            At some point, Dorian dropped off the coin he'd given him; it had been polished and converted into a necklace, a small token of himself he could give the Inquisitor.  He accepted it from his friend with no more than a glance. 

            None of it made any more impression on him than anything else.   

            The past three days had ground him down, forced out all the meticulous care and devotion he'd been trying to give the Inquisition.  He had known walking into the Winter Palace that he would soon walk out with a different life.  Married, husband to a stranger: he'd made peace with it sometime between a game of chess and a procession in the streets.  And since then… since that first kiss… everything he'd so carefully built had burned around him, and to what end? 

            There was none, only pain and anger and suffocating numbness for him to look forward to for the rest of his life. 

            Why should anything make an impression on him now, broken and discarded as he was? He was through.  All he could do now was finish what they'd started, what the Inquisition started, and plan his retreat. 

            The thought of leaving sustained him as he went through the motions of the ball.  He bowed to his future bride and made small talk, refused dances and fetched drinks for her, and all the while, he thought of where he could go, what he could do, when the war was over.    

            The Inquisition needed him now, and they'd continue to for many months; that much was clear.  They'd been receiving tips about Corypheus's scouts searching for something in the Arbor Wilds for the last few days before they left Skyhold -- no one knew what was going on yet, but surely a battle would come.  They would need his training and expertise to lead their army and plan their victory, and of course the Inquisitor would need his help to finally defeat Corypheus himself.  A mountain of work awaited them. 

            But after that… he could be free.  Surely the Inquisition would disband after Corypheus was dead and peace was restored.  Surely they would not need him to hold their alliance with Orlais after they saved Thedas from such a threat.  And surely his future wife would not be heart-broken, not if her flirting despite him standing beside her was any indication.  If anything, it meant she would not be upset to see him go, and for the first time that evening, his spirits were buoyed. 

            He would go to South Reach, he decided absently as he stood at Florianne's side, making the appropriate noises in response to queries from the nobles that surrounded them.  Mia's letters always encouraged him to visit.  His family missed him, and no doubt they'd be willing to help him make a new life.  Perhaps, if he could find nothing to do, he would go back to Honnleath.  He could find his parents' old farm and restore it, make it the picture of what he remembered from his childhood.  There in obscurity he could retire and finally find peace with what remained of his life. 

            His attention was drawn when the nobles around him started buzzing with talk of the Inquisitor.  The doors of the ballroom clanged shut somewhere in the distance; the Inquisitor must have just arrived, and judging from the talk, she looked spectacular.  Several noblewomen commented on the vivid color of her dress, and more than a few discussed her family's origins in the Free Marches.  Beside him, he overheard his future wife make a snide comment about how easy it was to see through the Inquisitor's mask, which was apparently a faux pas.  Whoever she was chatting with, Duke Something-or-Other, replied that he'd heard the Inquisition was not telling the truth about what happened at Adamant.  Cullen cleared his throat loudly, silencing any discussion of their military movements, but he knew it wouldn't last. 

            It was hard to care.  They all knew he represented the Inquisition, yet they talked anyway. He must get used to it now lest it itch under his armor forever. 

            The rest of the evening continued in much the same vein.   He fulfilled his required dance with the Grand Duchess without incident, and she in fact gave him a vague, euphemism-filled compliment on his abilities as a partner.  Another noble said something far less appropriate about his abilities tomorrow night in his ear, grabbing his behind as she did.  Josephine had warned him that he'd likely be groped, and Maker knew it was true, but so soon after experiencing the touch of someone who cared about him made it that much more revolting. 

            And with Leliana's teasing weeks before about masks and techniques ringing in his ears, the prospect of tomorrow night filled him with horror. 

            He tried to picture that little lake behind his parents' old home in Honnleath instead.   Though he had never returned, the spot had always given him peace -- perhaps it still could, if only in memory. 

            It worked for a while, through nobles and their inane questions and whatever awkward conversation he was required to make with the Grand Duchess.  He couldn't decide if his future wife was choosing topics from the limited supply of nobility conversation starters or just plain boring, but he found himself nearly nodding off listening to her.  Maker, he needed sleep.  Thankfully the Iron Bull fetched him not long after, something about a distraught servant who needed the Commander of the Inquisition, and he spent half an hour trying to solve whatever problem she had been involved in -- apparently she knew quite a lot about the complicated relationship between Briala and Celene, and he sent the elf to Leliana for debriefing. 

            A brief spark of interest in an otherwise painfully dull evening, and he returned to Florianne's side.  The ball was winding into its last hour now, so perhaps Josephine would soon release him.  They had the evidence they needed to force Celene to cooperate with Gaspard should it come to that, but unless the Inquisitor had discovered something else of note, they were no closer to the assassin than any other night. 

            What a waste. 

            Not ten minutes later, an elven servant approached him within his gaggle of Orlesian companions.  "Refill, ser," she asked sweetly, offering him a nearly full glass of whiskey. 

            "Thank you but no," he said automatically, giving her a small smile.  The nobles around him never once acknowledged the elves who served them, and Cullen felt badly for them.  What a shite country this was. 

            "The Inquisitor sent it, ser," the elf encouraged, and Cullen gave her a second look.  Between a cock-eyed and truly ridiculous hat, a curly-haired wig, and deep purple lipstick, he took a very long time to recognize Sera. 

            He couldn't help a laugh.  "I heard you caused quite a ruckus with your antics this evening," he said, leaning in so the nobles couldn't hear him. 

            Sera made a face.  "Yeah, but they liked the cookies, all salty trendy shite with them.  Gross." 

            Trust Sera to make trouble, and it was no surprise the Orlesians had stepped right into it.  "What'd the Inquisitor send?"  He asked with a shake of his head. 

            Sera straightened up in an attempt to look inquisitorial.  "She needs your official Commandery opinion on som'thin.  On that balcony."  She pointed.  "Out of hearing but not sight, so your lady friend here don't get upset."  Cullen glanced at his companions.  Florianne was laughing with her brother, who'd come over to join the crowd gathered around the happy couple. 

            "She won't notice," he grumbled to the elf, and Sera smirked. 

            "Course not.  Stick up 'er arse is too long. Pokes 'er brain." 

            Cullen snorted.  "Thank you for the message."  Sera dipped her comical hat to him before heading back into the crowd.  He only hoped she wasn't dropping earwigs down skirts as she passed. 

            Gradually he made his way toward the balcony Sera indicated.  It was small, out of the way enough that Cullen had to question the Inquisitor's motives.  He wasn't sure he really wanted to speak to her, but Sera made it sound important.  Perhaps it was about the assassination or the servant he'd helped escort out earlier.  The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like Talia pulling rank, and that could only mean she'd discovered something and needed his help. 

            He swallowed down his wounded heart and kept walking.  If the Inquisitor needed him, the Commander must answer. 

            She was waiting on the balcony, leaning on the railing as she looked out over the gardens below.  Cullen hesitated in the doorway.  Her gown this evening was a striking emerald green, likely chosen to match her eyes -- eyes he wasn't sure he could meet after everything that had passed between them. 

            "Inquisitor?"  He called softly, stepping onto the balcony, and she turned.  Just as he'd suspected, the gown matched perfectly.  The embroidery along its bodice and sleeves was all delicate silver stitching, the lace of her sleeves an elegant black to match her mask.  The stones there twinkled against her pale skin, the graceful twist of her dark hair pulled back from her face. 

            His breath left him in a rush.  Tonight she was the Breach incarnate, all greens and silver but without the unholy light that so ruined the magic.  He'd always thought the Breach beautiful in its own destructive way, the patterns of light and cloud it created alluring and dangerous.  And like it, she had torn into his life, bringing pain but also splendor, and she'd changed him forever. 

            The corners of her mouth quirked up in a small smile at the sight of him.  "Commander," she replied just as quietly, and he smiled even as he fought back tears. 

            Maker, how he loved her.  He couldn't just forget it, despite how much easier that would make everything.  He couldn't push it away or deny it, despite all the fights and pain they'd caused each other and despite how badly he might want to.  Nothing was that simple, or that easy. 

            "I'm sorry I keep running from you," she began, and he closed his eyes tight.  Could he do this again?  _Andraste save me, I must._   She moved closer to him, and he opened his eyes at the crunch of her steps.  "I'm… I'm sorry I keep hurting you and pushing you away.  I know it's terrible to do, I just…" 

            She was so close to him, but he couldn't say anything. 

            "I had to send Sera.  I was so sure you wouldn't talk to me unless… unless it was the Inquisitor asking, not me."  She gave a pitiful smile.  "This is so hard, I know, and Maker, I'm sorry I've been so selfish.  I keep… trying to protect myself and it doesn’t work, I just keep hurting myself because I… I…" 

            After everything they'd gone through, she still couldn't say it, but Cullen found he didn't need to hear it.  He'd been just as complacent; there was no blame to be had.  "Talia…"  He began, reaching for her before he remembered where they were.  "I am sorry too.  This is… we are…" 

            She touched his forearm once, quickly, before pulling away.  "You were right about everything," she said.  Her expression was unreadable behind the mask.  "We shouldn't have been together.  I shouldn't have slept in your bed, or kissed you, or anything else.  I should have just… left it alone."  To his surprise, her voice didn't shake, and that of all things broke him. 

            "Don't say that," he said softly, wishing he could touch her face.  "I'm glad you didn't." 

            She gave him a baleful look.  "No, you aren't.  You said it yourself, I should have --"

            "I already told I was a fool," he interrupted.  "And I do not regret anything.  The chance to touch your skin, to be with you, kiss you… how could I?  I just…"  He looked away.  He'd thought that first kiss was the only moment he'd get, and he'd never been so lucky to be wrong.  But it was over now.  "I just don't want to lose you." 

            "You won't," she said, voice fierce.  "I'll be with you tomorrow, and when you return to Skyhold, and on until whenever you make me stop, Cullen.  We'll still be together, even if it's not…" 

            "What we wanted," he finished for her, his hands squeezing against the leather of his gloves.  Something had to make this easier; there had to be a way. 

            And he found it sitting in his pocket: the one thing he'd had to offer her from the start, and the one thing he still could.  "I have something for you," he said suddenly. 

            She looked taken aback.  "You do?" 

            "Yes, I just…"  He fumbled off his gloves and dug through his pocket as she watched him curiously.  At last the serene face of Andraste stared up at him from his palm, and he smiled. "I… wanted to give you something so you'd know how I felt.  At first it was just that I supported you and trusted you, but now…"  He stepped closer to her, wishing he could kiss her, touch her, anything to remind him that she was real.   

            "Cullen…" she began, but he shook his head.  Stretching out his hand, he showed her the necklace.   She studied it for a moment before looking back up at him.  "A coin?" 

            He smiled a little, thinking of Branson's hand clenched around the coin as he passed it to his big brother.  He couldn't have been more than ten when Cullen left.  "My brother gave it to me the day I left for Templar training.  It just happened to be in his pocket, but he said it was for luck.  Templars are not supposed to carry such things -- our faith should see us through." 

            She arched an eyebrow at him.  "You broke the Order's rules? I'm surprised."  The twinkle in her eye made him chuckle. 

            "I was once very good at following them," he replied with a smirk.  "Most of the time."  He couldn't think of that now; the few good memories he had of the Order were colored by Kinloch Hold, and he didn't want to relive that night, not again. 

            He wiggled his fingers just a little under the coin to distract himself.  "This was the only thing I took from Ferelden that the Templars didn’t give me.  It's… the only thing that's always been mine.  I had thought… once… that my heart was mine as well."  He hesitated, staring down into her eyes.  They were bright with unspent tears.  "But it's not.  It's yours.  It always has been.  So I thought… since I cannot give you what is already yours, I could give you this instead."  Carefully he placed the coin in her marked palm, folding her fingers over it.  The chain he'd had added dangled from her fist. 

            "Cullen, I --" 

            "Humor me," he interrupted.  "Please.  We don't know what you'll face before the end, and… I cannot be beside you.  This can't hurt." 

            Her hand tightened.  "I'll keep it safe."  She tried to smile, but her lips trembled. 

            "I know it's foolish, but… I'm glad."  He squeezed her fist once before stepping back.  "It has brought me luck for many years.  Perhaps it will bring you some too." 

            Talia didn't say anything for a long time.  The coin glittered in her palm, catching the light as she moved it this way and that to study it.  Cullen watched.  Andraste's face was worn down, the edges of the coin nearly smooth from the touch of his fingers over so many years.  It had meant so much to him for so long, and now… Now she could carry a little piece of him with her, near her heart if not within it. 

            "Thank you," she whispered without looking up.  His heart clenched when he saw tears glistening on the coin's surface, and he ached to comfort her. 

            It was not to be. 

            "Commander?"  an Orlesian voice called through the open doorway to the balcony.  "Are you out there?" 

            "The Inquisitor and I were just finishing our discussion, Lady Florianne," he said quickly, turning so his frame blocked the woman's view of Talia. 

            "I do hope so," she trilled from behind her mask.  "We have missed your companionship inside.  Perhaps the Inquisitor would like to join us?" 

            The woman in question stepped from behind him and curtsied to the Grand Duchess.  "I would be delighted," she said smoothly, offering her hand.  Florianne accepted with a smile. 

            "As would I," she replied, bobbing her head.  "Come.  Dance with me, Inquisitor."  She led Talia off, casting a look at Cullen over her shoulder.  It was hard to tell under the mask, but he was almost sure she looked smug, of all things. 

            He followed them inside, the mabari once again. 

            They made an elegant pair on the dance floor, the Inquisitor and the Grand Duchess.  At any other time, just one of them would draw a noble audience, but the curiosity of them together, two of the most powerful women in Thedas dancing, drew the entirety of the Orlesian court.  Cullen stood at the railing and watched, thoughts chafing as he tried to appreciate Talia's every graceful movement while still listening to the chatter going on around him. 

            It was near impossible. 

            Many dips and spins later, the song drew to a close, and the Grand Duchess escorted the Inquisitor off the dance floor.  When they reached him, Florianne immediately tucked her hand into Cullen's elbow. 

            "I look forward to the negotiations tomorrow, Inquisitor," she said with a nod of her head. 

            The Inquisitor's smile was as empty as Florianne's.  "And I, Your Grace," she said, giving the Duchess another small curtsy. 

            "Please, enjoy the rest of your evening," Florianne said as she walked away.  Cullen had no choice but to follow, but he glanced over his shoulder as he walked away. 

            The Inquisitor stared after them, her brow furrowed under the filigree edges of her mask.  She had been upset by something, and he suspected it was not just their exchange.  Before he could make his excuses and go to her, however, the Grand Duchess tugged him around to speak to Gaspard. 

            "Commander, please, tell us about… "  He barely heard her query, just as he barely heard his own response.  As before, he made the right noises and bows to please the court as his duty demanded, but he hardly saw it. 

            Instead, all he saw before him was the Inquisitor, Talia.  The image that stuck with him was not her grace as she danced, nor the feel of her hair around his fingers, nor the sounds of their lovemaking, but instead of the smile she'd given him as they darted through the gardens that afternoon.  She'd had her hand outstretched behind her grasping his, keeping him close as they wove through topiaries and trees.  He saw her hair spinning loose behind her, the Anchor sparkling in the leaves.  She was so beautiful, so free in that moment, and it reminded him of all the other times over the past months when he'd seen her so happy.  It was a rare thing, reserved only for him.  He was so privileged to see it, the way this remarkable woman saw the world. 

            And she loved him. 

            She hadn't said it, couldn't bring herself to admit it, but he knew it.  He felt it, like the rain on his face as spring finally broke through winter's grasp.  She loved him, he loved her, and Maker's breath, but wasn't that worth saving the world? 

            Even if they couldn't be together. 

            So by the end of the night, he was back to thinking of Honnleath, and that little pond where he'd once found some peace.  Perhaps, some day, he could show it to her. 

            It was a pleasant daydream, even if it could not be. 


	16. Chapter 16

            The war council the next day was short and to the point.  It had to be -- they had only a few short hours before the wedding ceremony. 

            Cullen had overslept that morning, to his surprise.  He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept beyond sunrise, yet the day had been bright and clear by the time he awoke.  Perhaps someone had dosed him in an effort to get him to look alert and cheerful for the ceremony; he wouldn't put it past Josephine, not with all the work she'd put into things. 

            To his further surprise, he had almost nothing to do that day.  Iron Bull was already running his men through drills and assigning tasks by the time he got to the training yard, and Leliana had already debriefed his soldiers from their work the night before.  Josephine was diligently making notes in the war room, the line between her eyebrows deep as she read through the reports from the Inquisitor and her companions. 

            And the woman herself was entirely absent. 

            So Cullen rather puttered about all morning, useless and trying in vain to distract himself from the afternoon.  He sparred with Bull, showing off some technique for the men that seemed to be basically a lesson in how to let your opponent beat the shite out of you, at least from Cullen's perspective.  Bull hardly put up a fight, just let Cullen destroy him.  He wasn't even breathing hard by the time they were through, but he gave Cullen a shit-eating grin before sauntering off to run through some drills with the men. 

            Admittedly, Cullen did feel a little better when they were done.  He'd have to buy the qunari a drink or seven later. 

            He bathed and styled his hair, fussing with it in the mirror of his room for a long time.  As he worked the lemon-scented lotion in, playing with each curl until it lay smooth, he tried not to think about this afternoon.  He couldn't.  It didn't feel real yet.  In only a few hours, he'd be married, and yet here he was, putting on hair product he knew the Inquisitor liked as if he could still somehow change anything. 

            He had not yet dressed for the wedding when he went to the war council, and he could see Josephine fidgeting across the table with the urge to command him to drop everything and finish getting ready. 

            "Josephine, we have time," he assured her when she dropped her quill for the third time.  "Please stop fretting." 

            "I will stop worrying when you are married, the alliance is secured, and the assassin is stopped," she grumbled, fetching her quill.  "No sooner." 

            They ran through the known details quickly.  Despite nights of fighting and odd evidence turning up all over the Winter Palace, they were no closer to the assassin than any night previous.  The dagger from the nobleman's back incriminated Gaspard, while the elven servant implicated Briala.  The locket suggested that Celene and Briala had somehow been working on tandem, and there was a paper trail of deals, warnings, and off-the-record negotiations that pointed fingers in every possibly direction.  None of it formed a clear picture.   

            "We still don't have enough information," the Inquisitor grumbled, her hand rubbing over her creased forehead.  "How is that possible?" 

            "I… don't know, Inquisitor," Leliana said.  Her cool façade had been dropped in favor of the blank, confused look they all shared.   "We must be missing something." 

            Talia straightened.  "Last night while we were dancing, the Grand Duchess told me there's proof Gaspard is working with Tevinter.  Have we seen anything like that?" 

            "Nothing, Inquisitor," Cullen replied. 

            Leliana raised an eyebrow.  "She offered up her own brother? She's more cutthroat than I realized."   

            The suggestions down that path made Cullen's stomach turn.  "The only thing we know for sure is that the attack on the Empress will happen tonight.  It is the last opportunity."  He didn't elaborate.  They all knew what was at stake. 

            "As before, warning Celene is pointless," Josephine said as she tapped her quill relentlessly on her writing board.  "She needs the talks to succeed, and they are already crumbling before they officially begin." 

            "Can't we just give her the blackmail materials," Talia burst out, throwing up her hands, just as Leliana murmured, "Perhaps we should let her die." 

            There was a moment of stunned, horrified silence. 

            "I'm sorry, what did you say?"  asked Cullen. 

            Talia gaped at the Spymaster.  "…isn't the point of being here to _stop_ the assassination?" 

            Leliana let the silence settle a moment longer before she spoke, her voice cool.  "Listen to me carefully, Inquisitor.  What Corypheus wants is chaos.  Even with Celene alive, that could still happen.  Look around -- it _is_ happening." 

            Cullen certainly couldn't deny that fact, given both his personal situation and the blackmail, accusations, and cruelty that had been flying around since they'd arrived. 

            Leliana continued.  "To foil his plan, and to be useful to us in an alliance, the Empire must remain strong.  Someone must emerge victorious, or else this is all for nothing." 

            The reality of it washed over Cullen.  Leliana was right -- they couldn’t give this up now, not when they were so close and had sacrificed so much for their success.  "She's right," he said before he could second-guess himself.  Josephine and Talia both turned astonished gazes toward him.    "She's right," he repeated, his voice stronger.  "And it doesn't need to be Celene." 

            The Inquisitor kept her attention trained on Cullen, her shock refusing to abate.  Beside her, Josephine looked from Cullen to Leliana.  "Do you realize what you are suggesting, Leliana?  Cullen?" 

            "I do," Cullen said, the words washing by him without any extraneous meaning. 

            Leliana's face was expressionless.  "Sometimes the best path is not the easiest one," she said simply.  Cullen's heart twisted in his chest.  Maker, didn't he understand that. 

            He risked a glance at Talia and saw her reach the same painful understanding. 

            "I… can't decide this, not yet," Talia said after a long silence.  "We still don't know who the assassin will be.  What if it is Gaspard? We can't just hand Corypheus Orlais!" 

            "Of course not!"  Cullen tried not to snort.  With his military prowess and the loyalty of the chevaliers, Gaspard would make a formidable ally -- but they had to be sure about him first. 

            "You must choose soon," Leliana insisted.  "Even inaction is a decision." 

            Josephine still looked stunned.  "There is… no point in discussing this with Celene," she said quietly, almost to herself. 

            "Nor Gaspard," Cullen added, trying not to roll his eyes.  Of course they couldn't ask Celene how she'd feel about them allowing her to be assassinated!  "If he's guilty, he'll admit nothing, and if he's innocent, he knows nothing." 

            Across the table, the Inquisitor looked up from studying the reports spread before her.  "Then we need to find his mercenary captain, just as Florianne said." 

            "Where?"  Leliana asked quickly; they hadn't heard about the mercenaries before.  Cullen wasn't sure why the Grand Duke needed mercenaries, not when the chevaliers supported him over Celene, but that was a question for after ascertaining his guilt or innocence. 

            "She said I'd find him in the Royal Quarters," the Inquisitor answered.  "I didn't complete the search last night, I ran out of time.  But I can tonight, if…"  She gave Josephine a sheepish look.  "If I'm late to the ball.  I can't get in until they're all distracted." 

            To everyone's surprise, the Ambassador didn't hesitate.  "Done.  Just report back as quickly as possible."  

            Cullen spoke up. "Wait, that could be a trap!" 

            Leliana gave him a stern look.  "Perhaps." 

            "But it's also a lead, and the only one we have," said Josephine. 

            "And I'm not going in blind.  I already have access, and Dorian, Iron Bull, and Sera will come with me.  I'll leave Cassandra at the ball just in case," the Inquisitor said.  "Commander, you'll need your soldiers in position from the start.  I know there's not a lot of time before…"  She hesitated for a moment, and Cullen tried not to cringe.  In the sudden planning, he'd almost forgotten. 

            "I will see it done, Inquisitor," he assured her.  "Do not worry." 

            "Good," she replied, giving him a small nod.  "Leliana?"  

            The Spymaster answered swiftly.  "I will check with my people.  Perhaps there is something we overlooked that could help." 

            "I appreciate it.  I can't help feeling there are still loose ends," Talia replied.  She glanced down at the reports again before giving herself a small shake.  "No matter.  Fill Sera in with anything you need."  Leliana nodded.   

            Josephine was still scribbling furiously on her board.  Finally, she lay down her quill and fixed a smile to her face.  "With a plan in place, I must insist we adjourn.  The wedding is in just over two hours.  Since we are all expected to attend, we must change and prepare." 

            "Between the ceremony and the ball, we can meet to ensure everything is in place," Leliana suggested. 

            "Done," the Inquisitor said.  Cullen nodded his agreement, and the meeting was over. 

\---

            He was dressed but he didn't like it.  The black jacket was just as uncomfortable as the Inquisition red one.  The tail was too long, the blue sash around his waist too tight.  The ornamental sword Leliana had procured had vanished, and the belt he was wearing didn't accommodate his normal one.  Without something, he felt naked; he was supposed to have something equivalent to a military dress uniform, not some costume befitting any noble moron. 

            He fiddled with its gleaming buttons as he studied himself in the mirror.  He looked as uncomfortable as he felt. 

            Behind him, his gloves and mask awaited him on the quilt of his bed.  He couldn’t bring himself to put them on, not yet.  Some small part of him still hoped that Talia would come see him, even if it was just to wish him luck. 

            He should have known that kiss lying in their stolen bed would be their last.  He did, logically, but he couldn't admit it.  The embers of hope were not yet extinguished. 

            But he knew this was the end of whatever they had had between them.  As Josephine had reminded him a lifetime ago, he was a man of honor; he kept his word.  And going forth today, he'd be a married man.  A miserable one, perhaps, but married nonetheless, and though he might only be a Fereldan farmer's son, the laws of the Maker meant something to him.  The moment those words came out of his mouth, that simple phrase that would bind him to Orlais, he could never touch Talia again. 

            So he stood in front of that mirror, playing with the clasps on his jacket, and he waited.  And hoped. 

            When a knock finally sounded on his door, he nearly jumped out of his skin.  "Co-come in," he called.  He waited, clearing his throat as the door opened. 

            Josephine poked her head in.  She'd done her hair and make-up for the ceremony that afternoon, her Inquisition coat replaced by a resplendent gold dress like the one she often wore around Skyhold.  "I wanted to check on you, Commander," she said.  "May I come in?" 

            His heart sank.  "Of course, Lady Ambassador," he replied calmly, and went back to the mirror. 

            Josephine bustled about his room, brushing lint from his red jacket and straightening the pile of reports on his desk.  "I know you are not happy, Cullen," she said finally, coming to stand beside him.  She held a sword in her hands.  "But the Inquisition appreciates your sacrifice.  As do I."  She gave him a small smile through the mirror, and he nodded once. 

            "I… Thank you, Josephine," he said.  It was a small gesture, but he found that part of him very much needed to hear it acknowledged. 

            "I had this commissioned for today," she said after a moment.  She extended the scabbard to him, and he accepted it with gentle hands.  It matched the dimensions of his beloved battle sword, the one that rested just a few feet away in its worn and scuffed sheath.  This piece, however, was immaculate.  Its length was wrapped with dark leather, the Eye of the Inquisition burned into its throat.  The handle matched his old weapon but in silverite instead of steel, stronger, deadlier, in the right hands. 

            He hefted it, feeling the familiar weight in his hands.  Somehow it made him feel better.  "This is lovely," he said quietly.  "Thank you."  He undid the belt at his waist and threaded the scabbard into place.  A sword at his side, he was much more the Commander again. 

            "You are welcome."  Josephine stepped in front of him to straighten his jacket.  When she finished, she stepped back and gave him a tight smile.  "I… also came to tell you about the ritual surrounding the ceremony this afternoon." 

            Cullen gave her a look.  "What else could possibly be involved?"  He wasn't sure he wanted to know. 

             She headed over to inspect his mask as she spoke.  "There is a unique ritual that accompanies arranged marriages in the Empire.  After the ceremony, you and the Grand Duchess will have the chance to spend some time together." 

            "That does not surprise me," he said, buttoning the last of the clasps near his throat. 

            "Part of this tradition is that you remove your masks in front of each other for the first time," she continued.  Cullen kept his eyes on his reflection. 

            "Where does this happen, exactly?"  It couldn't be part of the ceremony itself; Orlais would never go for such honesty.  And he was almost thankful -- he had no idea what Florianne actually looked like, other than her close-cropped blonde hair.  Perhaps seeing her face would make this a touch more familiar. 

            "There is a room just off the chapel in the Winter Palace," the Ambassador answered before she hesitated.  "Cullen, you should know… there is also a bed in that room." 

            Cullen's heart stopped in his chest.  "I'm sorry, what?" 

            "A bed," Josephine repeated.  "In the room off the chapel.  It may not happen, Cullen, there are a great many things to be done before tonight, and the Duchess may not…" 

            She kept talking, but Cullen didn't hear her.  His hands had frozen on the top button, his mouth fallen open.  A bed.  In a room just off the chapel. 

            The same room, the same bed, where he and Talia had been together only yesterday. 

            She had said they were safe, that the chapel beyond the door was deserted.  At the time, he hadn't given a second thought to how strange that was; it was Orlais, why wouldn't there be a bed just off the chapel?  And he'd wanted nothing more than to hold her and touch her, and talking about the absurdity of the Winter Palace only wasted what little precious time they had together. 

            _Andraste preserve me, I should have guessed._

            Josephine's voice broke through his thoughts at last.  "There may not be time, with Florianne as the hostess for the evening.  And she… may not expect it of you." 

            "Josephine… how can this be happening?" 

            The Ambassador's smile faltered.  "Surely I do not have to explain the mechanics to you, Commander." 

            "Maker's breath, of course not! I meant…" 

            "I know what you meant, Commander."  She folded her hands in front of her and met his eyes.  "I know this is not a comfortable situation.  But you knew a consummation of the marriage had to happen.  The wedding night is not long after; perhaps it would be best to have that part over before the Grand Ball." 

            He sighed, rubbing a hand over his forehead.  "I just… Everything in Orlais requires such ceremony.  I rather expected that to end after the wedding so everything else could happen… naturally." 

            "Leliana would laugh at your naivety," she replied, her smile gone.  "All I can tell you is this:  If the marriage remains unconsummated in the morning, Orlais does not have to fulfill the terms of the alliance." 

            "What horse shit is that?"  The question was out of his mouth before he could re-think it. 

            "It's been understood all along, but the Empress officially added it yesterday," Josephine said with a sigh.  "After seeing how you ran off to help the Inquisitor and her party at the second ball. They were… making threats, as I said." 

            He fought down to urge to shout.  "And you didn't think to mention it until now?" 

            She stared him down, her tone short.  "What difference would it make, Commander?  The marriage must happen, and so must this.  And if it doesn't… you will still be married in the eyes of the Maker, and the Inquisition will have nothing to show for it." 

            "What did the Inquisitor say?"  He couldn’t help it; he had to know. 

            The look she leveled at him said it all.  "She wasn't there, because she was with you." 

            The world slowed around him.  She knew.  Josephine knew, which meant that Leliana knew.  His head spun.  How had his life spiraled so quickly out of control?  He had never meant for this one role he must play to so destroy everything, and yet here he stood.  He had said yes; nothing else he'd done since had mattered. 

            He should have known there was more to the alliance.  Just saying a few words wasn't enough to seal it, not for Orlais.  He should have known.  Some part of him probably had -- after all, how many other alliances in history must have been sealed with marriage, and thus the inevitable consummation? 

            This was just one more thing he had to do. 

            "I…"  He began, but he had nothing to finish.  An apology wasn't forthcoming; he didn't regret being with Talia, and if Orlais hadn't backed out by now, then he hadn't ruined anything for the Inquisition either.  Perhaps Josephine deserved one for all the work she'd done that he had jeopardized, but that wasn't forthcoming either.  Not when he married a stranger in less than an hour. 

            Josephine, thank the Maker, choose to skim over what questions she likely had.  "I thought it best not to tell her when I saw her later," she said eventually.  "It… did not seem necessary to cause her further hurt." 

            His chest tightened, but his anger had settled.  "I appreciate that, Josephine," he said slowly.  "I've done enough of that already." 

            The Ambassador nodded, her expression tight.  "There are… potions, I can procure for you," she ventured.  "If the requirements will… be a problem." 

            "Thank you, but I will muddle through on my own," Cullen said, nauseated at the prospect in either case.   A potion wouldn't change anything. 

            Silence hung heavy in the room for a long moment before Josephine sighed.  "We need to leave in fifteen minutes," she said.  "I'll be back in ten minutes to check your mask."  Cullen nodded.  A moment alone would do him good. 

            The door burst open before she could reach it. 

            "It's Florianne," Talia announced as she tumbled into the room.   Josephine put out a steadying hand, but Talia ignored her, instead moving straight to Cullen.  "It's Florianne! She's behind everything."  She bent, her hand on her waist as she tried to catch her breath. 

            Cullen put his hand on Talia's shoulder.  "What are you saying?  Florianne… and Corypheus?"  Over her head, Josephine gave him a confused look, and he shrugged.  He didn't understand either.  

            "Exactly," Talia huffed, straightening up.  He idly wondered where she was running from. "They've been working together to throw us off this whole time.  She's got agents all over the palace, probably in Skyhold too, to watch us.  That's why she's been ahead of us, that's why we couldn't catch her." 

            Now that Josephine had had a moment to collect herself, she stood straight, her hands folded.  "What evidence points to her, Inquisitor?" 

            Talia spun as if noticing the Ambassador for the first time.  "What are you doing here?"  She asked before holding up a hand when Josephine tried to answer.  "Doesn't matter.  Think it through, Josie.  She hasn't said one true word to us since we got here."  In his head, Cullen tried to go over their notes about the Winter Palace.  There was so much information; what had they missed that Talia hadn't?

            Josephine, however, did not look convinced, and certainly she knew the reports better than Cullen.  "There is no proof of that, Inquisitor," she said with a shake of her head.  "Just you trying to stop the Commander's wedding."   

            His heart had stopped, he was sure of it. 

            Talia froze. "What?" 

            Josephine stepped closer to her, prompting Talia to back away.  Behind her, Cullen stood as if in a trance.   He couldn't have heard that correctly.  Talia wouldn't do that; she'd said so herself.  He wasn't worth it.

            "This alliance with Orlais is the best way to help the Inquisition.  Diplomacy is our strongest course to victory over Corypheus, and for some reason, you want destroy our reputation."  Josephine's voice grew colder.  "The only reason I can think of is Cullen.  Why else would you choose his intended as your target?" 

            Talia's mouth had fallen open.  "What are you saying, Josie?  That you don't believe me?" 

            The Ambassador sighed.  "We have no evidence, Inquisitor."  Stepping closer to Talia again, she laid a hand on her arm.  "I understand love, but it cannot be." 

            With an exasperated groan, Talia swatted her hand away.  "Josephine, _think_.  We've found evidence against everyone else here -- Briala, Gaspard, even Celene.  Secrets that could bring any one of them down."  When she saw that Josephine stood unimpressed, she turned to Cullen, and he cringed at the desperation on her face.  "Everyone but Florianne.  I can't believe we didn't notice before.  No one lives such a clean life, not in Orlais." 

            Cullen hesitated.  Could she be right?  Florianne seemed to know everything about Gaspar's plotting, even going so far as to point the finger at him.  But was that proof of her guilt?  "Inquisitor, I --" 

            "Unless they are innocent, Inquisitor," Josephine interrupted, crossing her arms.  "Unless you are inventing lies to tell against them." 

            "Or they are hiding something!"  Angry tears were beginning to well up in Talia's eyes as she shouted.  "Don't you see?" 

            Josephine pursed her lips.  "All I see is a woman trying to save the man she loves from an arranged marriage." 

            "Fuck love!" Talia shouted.  "I'm trying to save Orlais!" 

            "The Inquisition will save Orlais," Josephine snapped.  "But this is not how to go about it."  She stepped over to the bed and grabbed Cullen's things, passing him his gloves.  He accepted without thinking, pulling them on as his mind worked through Talia's accusation.  She had to have seen something, noticed something, that they had missed. 

            Talia moved to him, grasping his forearm with tense fingers.  "Cullen, please.  You have to believe me." 

            He didn't know what to believe.  They'd found nothing, as Josephine said, to indicate the Grand Duchess as their suspect, while evidence abounded to suggest Gaspard or Briala, even if they were merely pawns of the darkspawn magister they were chasing.  No reports, no clues, nothing.  And yet, his gut told him to believe the woman before him, the woman he'd held in his arms the day before, the woman who had refused to tell him how she  felt…

            … because of his wedding.  Because of his future wife.  "Inquisitor," he began, and her face crumpled, tears spilling down her cheeks.  "Talia."  He reached up and brushed one away with his thumb as he spoke, sorry he had put on his gloves and could not feel her warmth.  "Please.  I can believe you, but…"  He glanced away before meeting her gaze.  "As your advisor, I have to support Josephine's position.  We…  The Inquisition needs proof to make an accusation like that, especially now." 

            Talia leaned into his hand, her eyes shutting for a moment before they snapped open to meet his. "She as good as told me herself, Cullen." 

            He recoiled, inadvertently pulling his hand away.  "What?"  Behind them, he heard Josephine echo the same. 

            "When I danced with her last night.  She told me that there were enemies everywhere, that I didn't know who it was I sought and I should be careful before I did anything.  You were there, you saw my face after we came off the dance floor." 

            Josephine yanked them apart, a hand on each shoulder to keep them separated.  "The face of any woman who had danced with her lover's fiancée, Inquisitor."  She looked between them, dark gaze focused on Talia, and her face flushed as she put it together. 

            Cullen's gaze dropped to the floor.  He hadn't been able to deny it earlier either; to deny the truth was to deny her, and he couldn't do that.  Even if Josephine hadn't already known… even if it had just been a hunch, it was all over their faces now. 

            "Of course I know," Josephine said when Talia opened her mouth to protest.  "I suspected yesterday, and Leliana confirmed it this morning.  And… I understand." 

            Cullen nearly choked, his gaze flying to the Ambassador.  "You do?" 

            She gave him a scathing look.  "I told you weeks ago, Commander.  It is 'la splendeur des coeurs perdus' -- the splendor of lost hearts.  Love's power acknowledged, but unfulfilled.  Known, respected, and bittersweet."  Her voice lost its edge, instead sweet and soft as she closed her eyes.  For a moment, Cullen recognized just how hard this was for the Ambassador, to force them apart for the greater good despite how she must want to give in.  "You both know it cannot be, and yet..." 

            "That doesn't change anything, Josie!"  Talia pulled herself from the Ambassador's grasp.  "Whether or not I love him is irrelevant.  He's about to marry an assassin! We have to stop it!"

            _After all this, she still can't admit she loves you,_ some lingering demon in the back of his mind reminded him, and Cullen's heart clenched.  It was a stupid, errant thought in the midst of this conversation, but it was the only thing in focus. 

            Josephine frowned once more.  "I must ask again, Inquisitor:  What evidence do you have?" 

            Anger contorted Talia's features for a moment before she got control of herself.  "By your exacting standards, Lady Ambassador, I have none," she growled. 

            Josephine hesitated for a fraction of a second before she picked up Cullen's mask from his desk.  "Then we have a wedding to attend," she said, her tone still soft.  She gestured for Cullen to turn and he did without thinking, feeling the cool metal of his mask against his face as she tied its ribbon. 

            Talia deflated.  "That's it?  You're just going to what, ignore me?" 

            Josephine stood her ground.  "Without evidence… the scandal would ruin us, Inquisitor."

            "Cullen, please…"  Talia turned to him, her face streaked with tearstains. 

            He looked at her for a long time. 

            He still didn't know what to believe.  Once, when he had kissed her and everything seemed simple, he'd have thought himself the most important thing to her in all of Thedas.  He remembered how her voice broke when she tried to hold together and how she clung to him as he held her.  But at every turn since, she'd had something new to say -- that he couldn't touch her, or that he could.  That she wanted him, but not enough to break with Orlais.  That this was his fault, or that she was sorry, but it never stopped her pushing him away. 

            He didn't know what to believe, and he didn't trust himself to make the choice. 

            "Talia, as much as I want to, we cannot destroy the alliance on a hunch."  That was the truth, loathe as he was to admit it. 

            She stared up at him.  "It's not a hunch, Cullen.  I know I'm right." 

            He didn’t know what to say.  "Then --" 

            "Tell Leliana," Josephine interrupted before he could formulate his thoughts.  "She can figure out if your claim has merit.  But go quickly.  You cannot delay the ceremony." 

            Talia looked between them and gave dry laugh.  "That's easy to avoid," she said.  "I won't be there." 

            "Inquisitor, you must --"  Josephine began, but Talia shook her head. 

            "I can't."  She glanced at him, her expression apologetic.  "I'm sorry, Cullen." 

            He swallowed.  "I understand, Inquisitor."  He knew he couldn't have watched her marry someone else, not and keep his peace.  With a small lopsided smile, he stepped close to her.  He moved slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wanted, but she slid into his arms and pressed her face into his chest. 

            "Be safe tonight," he said into her hair, and she took a deep, wavering breath. 

            "And you, Commander," she replied. 

            "I will."  He pressed a last soft kiss to her forehead and stepped away.  He didn't trust himself with anything more. 

            Her hand on his arm stilled him.  "Cullen, I --" 

            "Don't," Josephine interrupted, her eyes wet.  "It will make the wedding worse." 

            The Inquisitor didn't reply, and when Cullen finally mustered the courage to look for her, she was gone.  With a painful sigh, he closed his eyes. 

            _Maker please… You have stood with me when all others have forsaken me.  Stand with me now._

            When he opened them again, he found Josephine watching, tears streaming down her face.  "I am sorry, Cullen," she breathed.  "Truly, I am." 

            He moved to hug her before he'd quite thought it through.  "It's not your fault, Josie," he said, surprising himself.  "I said yes before I ever knew." 

            She dabbed at her make-up as she stepped back.  "The Grand Duchess will not expect you to be true to her, Commander," she offered with a sad smile.  "No one in Orlais does." 

            Cullen absently rubbed the back of his neck.  "Thank you, Josie, but I think that's done now," he told her. 

            "Even…" 

            "Even back in Skyhold, yes.  I think it's over." 

            The Ambassador fought back a sniff as she nodded.  "Well then.  I'll… give you a moment before we go to the chapel."  She closed the door behind her with a soft click, and Cullen was alone. 

            He looked around his enormous, ornate, empty room.  This was to be his prison, this cold lonely country, and he didn't need a moment by himself.  It only invited Talia's ghost back in, to sit in his heart and make him once more wish himself back to the battlements that day so many months before.  

            He straightened his jacket in the mirror.   He looked like the military Commander he was, strong and solid, and that must be the only thing anyone saw today.  Everything else was gone.  But something caught his eye on his dressing table -- a teabag of King's Blend, the last of what Talia had given him their first night at the Winter Palace.  He picked it up gently, lifting it to his nose and breathing deep its sweet scent. 

            A sob forced its way out of him, nearly cracking his chest, and all of a sudden he wanted nothing to do with Orlais anywhere near him.  He clawed the mask off his face, felt the tension in the ribbon break as he tore it, and he flung it away.  It bounced off his bed and clattered to the floor as he collapsed into the chair beside the mirror.  He buried his face in his hands, the teabag still in one palm, and wept. 

            Josephine found him like that a few minutes later, his shoulders still shaking but his eyes now dry.  There was nothing left to give, just as there was nothing to be done, and when she offered him a hug and a handkerchief, he accepted both. 

            "I'm sorry, Cullen," she tried to apologize again, and he waved her off. 

            "I'm fine, Josie," he lied, blowing his nose. "There's nothing you can do now."  

            She retrieved his mask, picking off the damaged ribbon in silence and rethreading it from a ribbon in her sleeve.  He watched, cold, as within moments, it was as though nothing had happened. 

            When she offered him his mask, he bent so she could tie it in place.  "There," she said when she'd finished, turning him gently so she could inspect him.  Brushing off his shoulders, she gave him a small smile, the corners trembling.  "Are you ready?" 

            He huffed out a laugh and tossed the handkerchief aside.  "No, but when has that ever stopped things in Orlais?" 


	17. Chapter 17

To his great surprise, Cullen found all of his Inquisition friends and colleagues crowding the chapel when he arrived.  Some he had expected, like Dorian and Iron Bull waving to him from their places at the altar or Sera making faces at him from underneath one of those ridiculous horned hats.  But Solas also stood off to one side, nearly invisible behind a crowd of his lieutenants and soldiers, and Rylen of all people greeted him as soon as he entered. 

            "Why are they all here?"  He demanded under his breath as Josephine herded him down the aisle.  "Don't they know this isn't a real wedding?" 

            "Don't say that so loud, Commander," Josephine hissed back as she set him in place beside Dorian.  His best man wiggled his eyebrows at him. 

            "Looking good, Commander," he said with a wink. 

            "Don't start, Dorian," Cullen grumbled, but he smiled anyway.  From Dorian's other side, Iron Bull leaned in.  

            "Sorry about you and the boss, Cullen," he said quietly.  Dorian nodded vigorously, but Josephine shushed them both. 

            "Do not speak about that here," she said, eyes wide.  Iron Bull shrugged, and Dorian patted Cullen's shoulder, but neither said anything more on the subject. 

            "Any last minute rituals I should know about, Josephine?"  Cullen asked as in the background somewhere, a violinist started playing. 

            "Nothing," the Ambassador said, glancing about nervously.  "Just… say the right name, and you'll be fine."  She patted his arm absently and went to take her seat. 

            Dorian snickered.  "She has doubts about your abilities, then?"  Cullen heard him yelp when Bull elbowed him. 

            "Leave him alone, Dorian," Bull growled.  "He's gotta bang what has got to be the least attractive chick I've ever seen tonight." 

            "Right, right," Dorian muttered.  "Difficult for you people, huh? Just turn her around." 

            Despite how he was pretending not to listen, Cullen went scarlet.  "Must we talk about this?" 

            "It's good advice," Bull said with another shrug.  "Then at least you can pretend she's someone else." 

            "It's disrespectful," he answered.  Dorian muttered, "Fereldans," under his breath, and Cullen resisted the urge to smack him.  "Shut it, you two, or Josephine will send Leliana after you." 

            "Fuck me, I wish," Bull said, a touch of wistful desire in his voice, and both Cullen and Dorian turned to stare at him.  "What?" 

            "Charming," muttered Dorian just as Cullen asked, "She doesn't terrify you?" 

            "Red? No, that spy thing is sexy as hell," Bull said, his gaze focused somewhere past the two of them. 

            "How is that even --" 

            "You got a visitor, Cullen," Bull interrupted, nodding toward the chapel entrance, and Cullen turned. 

            The Inquisitor was walking down the aisle toward them, her crimson skirts gathered in one hand as she climbed over a set of ribbons strung across the pews.  Her hair was pinned back, her mask in place across her cheekbones, and of all things, his coin rested against her chest, its silver face winking in the light.  She was, however, muttering angrily as she nearly tripped over the last ribbon, and Cullen reached out to catch her before she fell. 

            "Inquisitor?"  he said softly, his voice colored with surprise. 

            She gave him a hesitant smile.  "Commander." 

            "What are you doing here?" 

            "I was wrong," she said, squeezing his hand where he'd caught hers.  "I have to be here, or I won't believe it's true." 

            A weight he hadn't realized he'd been carrying lifted from his chest.  "Thank you, Inquisitor," he replied, lifting her hand to his lips.  He let go almost immediately, barely able to feel her warmth through her gloves and knowing everyone was watching.  Beside him, Dorian reached out to guide the Inquisitor into their line on the altar, kissing her hand in the same way so as to avoid arousing suspicion. 

            "I'm glad you're here," he heard the mage say quietly to her, and from the corner of his eye, he caught the grateful smile Talia gave him. 

            The music picked up before he could do anything else, though Cullen wasn't quite sure what it would have been.  He wanted to tell her how much he appreciated her being there, even if her presence made his stomach turn somersaults.  How he ever imagined he could do this without her, he didn't know. 

            But as he watched his future wife walk down the aisle on her brother's arm, cutting ribbons as she came, his thoughts slipped away from the Inquisitor and toward Florianne.  An even larger mask obscured her face this afternoon, covered in elaborate silver etchings.  What did she look like underneath it?  For that matter, what did any of the Orlesian court look like?  The secrecy should have bothered him, but he hadn't had an episode in almost two days now -- perhaps he was actually getting used to the masks. 

            Or perhaps he just had more important things to occupy his thoughts. 

            The Inquisitor took a deep breath beside him, and he straightened up as the Grand Duchess approached the altar.  She wore no veil, as would have been customary were they in Honnleath instead of Halamshiral, but a bouquet of flowers graced her hands as Gaspard bowed slightly to her and then to Cullen.  In Ferelden, he would have passed her hands into Cullen's, a symbolic gesture of his responsibilities toward his bride, but he did no such thing. 

            Instead Cullen stood cold and empty-handed as the Chantry sister before them started the ceremony.  Josephine had negotiated for it to be held in the common tongue so he, and the rest of the Inquisition, could understand it, but he had no trouble reading the distaste evident in the hard lines of his bride's lips. 

            He could not have cared less if said distaste was for the ceremony, or for him. 

            Instead, he watched her eyes as they stared straight ahead, never wavering from the Chantry sister.  Could it be devotion that guided her stillness, or boredom?  Was she praying, asking for strength as Cullen so often had in the past few days, or plotting how to accomplish an assassination?  Would she be relieved to be rid of her mask, an necessity she actually despised?  Or would her face, when she finally removed the mask, be just as impassive?  

            Someone was reading in Orlesian now, likely from the Chant of Light given the cadence of the words.  Cullen wouldn't understand it, so he didn't listen; instead, he wondered over Talia's accusation against Florianne.  He understand Josephine's concerns -- he and Talia had tried to put the Inquisition first.  They had given everything up in service.  Josephine was right to be suspicious, to ask for proof before they moved on the Duchess. 

            But the soldier in him was suspicious too -- not of Talia, but of Florianne. 

            He had been a soldier for nearly as long as he could remember.  That was his profession, his calling, and that's what he must be for the Inquisition and for Talia.  This was the role he knew inside and out; he'd played it all his life, and there was safety, comfort there. 

             Just as there was not in the Winter Palace. 

            It was entirely possible that Florianne was the assassin they sought.  As Gaspard's sister, she had been part of the line of succession to the Orlesian throne when Celene took over, and if her brother harbored resentment, surely she did too.  Possibly more, given how she'd spent her life being overlooked in favor of Gaspard.  As the host of the peace talks, she was privy to every piece of information, including all the details of the negotiations and the machinations that surrounded them.  She'd attended every meeting, every event, since they'd arrived, and Talia was right -- her reputation was spotless.  Leliana had heard none of the whispers of affairs, deals, or exploitations that had accompanied everyone else involved in the Game. 

            Was that truly possible? 

            Or was he just hopeful that it was?  He wanted out like nothing else in his life -- Maker knew he'd already plotted his escape when this was all over.  Would it not be better to simply ruin things now before he ever got swept up in them?  To walk away from this wedding ceremony and have done with it all? 

            He'd walked that path in his mind before, and he'd found himself wanting.  If he couldn't be the man Talia needed him to be, the man she'd be willing to risk everything for, then he couldn't do this either. 

            And almost before he realized it, he'd said his vows, and Florianne hers, and they'd been pronounced, the couple that solidified the alliance between the Inquisition and Orlais.  The Chantry sister looked at him expectantly, as did his bride, and with bile rising in his throat, Cullen pressed a quick, dry kiss to the lips of his wife. 

            Their audience clapped and cheered, no doubt encouraged by their respective leaders to make this arrangement as exciting as possible.  Empress Celene herself offered their first congratulations as they walked back down the aisle together, his wife's hand tucked in his elbow, and Josephine was not far behind.  And though he stood in a receiving line for a long while, shaking hands with a forced smile on his face, Cullen never saw the Inquisitor leave. 

            He watched the ceremony's attendees as he shook hands, waiting to see something that might help the Inquisition.  His biggest contribution was over, unless they needed military support over the next hours to prevent the assassination, and though he was prepared to do so, he didn't anticipate it.  The act itself was far more likely to be quick and sharp, something they hadn't foreseen, and despite the lack of evidence, he still found himself watching the Grand Duchess. 

            Though she greeted Gaspard enthusiastically, Florianne was surprisingly cold to Celene, brushing the Empress aside in favor of speaking with a series of nobles on the Council of Heralds.  That was odd -- their reports suggested that Florianne and Celene were close, much more so than the Duchess and her brother -- but not incriminating.             

            Ten minutes later, just before they were due to move to the private reception room reserved for husband and wife, Cullen spotted Florianne alone across the room.  Where she should have been surrounded by people, she was instead watching everyone else, her eyes flitting about as if looking for something in the crowd.  Again, odd.  He made a mental note to tell the Inquisitor next time he saw her -- which had not yet happened. 

            When the bell rang to send Cullen and his bride into the side room off the chapel, he still had not seen Talia, and now he wouldn't have a chance. 

            Dorian gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze as he headed through the crowd, trailing his wife toward that ornate blue door.  Iron Bull offered him a saucy wink that almost made him smile, and for a moment, as Josephine murmured something that sounded like "Good luck," he could almost believe this was where he was supposed to be. 

            The only problem was who was there with him. 

            The door closed behind him, and suddenly he was alone with his wife for the first time. 

            "Well, Commander," she said with a cold smile.  "That was not so unpleasant." 

            "Um."  He replied hesitantly.  "No, it was most… tolerable." 

            Florianne nodded as she made her way toward the balcony.  "I suspect you are just as much a pawn in this as I," she said. 

            Cullen grunted his agreement, wondering how true that actually was of Florianne.  She was wandering the room as though she'd never seen it before, her fingertips trailing over the backs of chairs and tops of tables as she walked.  In lieu of looking around -- he'd seen the room yesterday and had no desire to tarnish that memory -- he watched her carefully.  Her outfit was the same as many others in the Orlesian court, blue and gold to match the country's colors, and her shoes clicked on the marble floors.  But her mask… he realized as she turned back to catch his eyes that his brief nonchalance about the custom had been but a short respite.  He could not see Florianne's face, only her eerily colorless eyes staring out at him from behind that mask, and he fought down the panic that rose in his chest.  It would not do to have an episode now. 

            From where she watched him, Florianne smiled.  It may have graced her lips, but nothing remotely like warmth reached her eyes. 

            "Did you hear me, husband mine?"  She asked, and he startled. 

            "My ap-apologies, my lady, I did not."

            "Would you like to share a glass of wine with me?"  She gestured toward a waiting bottle and two goblets on the balcony railing.  "My brother sent it as a gesture of good fortune." 

            "Of course."  He dawdled his footsteps as Florianne poured.  He didn't have much of a choice to share this time with her, nor a celebratory drink, but until he knew what she expected of this room, he refused to let his guard down. 

            She turned to him and hesitated when she saw he had stopped at the entrance to the balcony.  "Commander," she said softly, a glass in each hand.  "You do not need to look so afraid.  We hardly know each other.  Let us drink together and see what comes of it."  She pressed a glass into his hands and stepped back.  "A toast?"  She raised hers but did not continue. 

            Cullen waited a moment before raising his own.  Something about her was bothering him, something more than simply accusations and wedding ceremonies.  He cleared his throat.  "To the Inquisition," he forced out, the words sticking on his tongue. 

            "And to Orlais," she added, clinking her glass against his.  They drank to the alliance, though Cullen only swallowed a mouthful or two.  He didn't much care for wine beyond appearance's sake. 

            The Grand Duchess gave him a small curtsy as he lowered his glass.  Her own looked untouched.  "Shall we sit and talk?"  She gestured to the table and chairs just inside the door. 

            "I should… like to get to know you better," Cullen replied, surprised by the honesty of his answer.  If he was going to spend his life with this woman -- or some portion of it, at least -- he hoped he'd at least find her tolerable. 

            "Then sit with me," she said, leading the way.  He took another sip of his wine, wondering if she'd be as boring as she was the night before. 

            To his horror, she laughed, and he realized he'd spoken aloud.  "Do not worry, Commander.  There are no spies to our conversation here.  You may speak freely." 

            "I apologize, Lady Florianne," he said, belatedly realizing he had somehow slurred her name and title together.  "I did not mean to be rude." 

            "It is no problem, Commander.  I am aware of your national origins."  She sat primly on the edge of the chair and looked expectantly up at him. 

            "Do you mean… because I'm Fereldan, I can be rude?" 

            Again that smile that did not reach her eyes.  "I do not mean to offend," she said smoothly.  "Only to make my expectations known." 

            Expectations.  Something about expectations sent up a red flag, and he stepped closer to the table.  "What about the masks?" 

            "Do not fret, Commander," she said as she gestured to hers.  "I have no intention of baring myself to you." 

            "What's that supposed to… to…"  The sound of glass shattering broke through the fog that had settled over him, and he realized he'd dropped his wineglass.  "I'm sorry, it seems I've made a mess…" 

            Opposite him, Florianne smiled, and this time the corners of her eyes crinkled with delight.  "It was nothing I did not expect, Commander," she said, her voice sounding as though from very far away.  Something dark was floating in the middle of his vision, dark and growing, and as he squinted to see it, he stumbled forward. 

            His knees gave out as he fell, and then everything went black. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for vomit. It's gross but brief. 
> 
> Sorry, but it was the only way to keep poor Cully alive :)

            Someone was banging on the door to his bedroom when Cullen woke.  No, that couldn't be right -- he wasn't in his office.  Skyhold didn't have such nice floors. 

            And it wasn't a door making that noise, that loud shouting he could barely make out.  That had to be from inside.  Inside where?  He couldn't remember, couldn't think over the pounding inside his skull and that revolting smell rising from somewhere very close to him.  What had happened to the ground in front of him? 

            For that matter, why was he on the ground? 

            His blurry vision shifted, and through a haze of attempted deductions, he thought that someone might have lifted him up.  But why?  Pain electrocuted his nerves with every jarring movement, and he heard something crack and pop as his head lolled backward.  The shifting made nausea rise in his stomach,  thick and heavy.  Before he could figure anything else out, he vomited, coughing hard as something stuck in his throat, and he heard more than felt someone pound him on the back as he threw up again. 

            He collapsed, but whoever had been hitting him heaved at his shoulders and he ended up on his side.  He couldn't feel the coolness of the stone, only the grit of salt and worse things between his skin and the ground.  Hands patted him down roughly before a cloth wiped over his cheek, and he felt something snap as the top half of his face lifted off. 

            No -- the mask.  They'd pulled the mask off, and suddenly blessedly cool stone pressed against his forehead.  He rolled his face into it, saw one of his hands pressed down against the marble as though it wasn't connected to his body.  His vision gradually cleared as he stared at it.  He needed to trim his fingernails. 

            Whoever was there was still shouting as they yanked at the buttons on his jacket, pressure against his throat abating suddenly when the collar gave.  He coughed again, sending a moist spew from his throat before he threw up again.  This time he managed to push himself up a little before it happened, bile missing his sleeves by mere inches. 

            A glass of water materialized in front of his eyes.  "Drink," he heard someone demand, but the memory of someone handing him a similar glass sprang up in his mind and he smacked it away.  Dimly he heard it shatter somewhere in the distance. 

            "I am glad you are suspicious," the voice said.  "Just as I am glad you are alive."  Another glass appeared, and the hand around it held it firmly to his lips.  "Drink."  Something clipped and ominous about the voice made him obey. 

            When it was half-empty, the hand pulled it away.  "Not too fast," the person said.  Cullen coughed again, the inside of his throat scraped raw.  The muscles in his back and shoulders screamed to let go, and he didn’t hesitate, unwittingly hitting his head as he slid to the floor again. 

            Cassandra's scowling face slid into view above him.  "I will not ask if you are all right," she said.  "But I will ask if you can drink a potion." 

            The Winter Palace.  He was in a room in the Winter Palace, a room he'd been in before.  But it didn't feel safe like it did in his memory, and he twisted his neck trying to look for someone.  Who?  

            "Florianne is not here," Cassandra said.  "At least, not anymore." 

            Florianne.  She was someone important, but not who Cullen remembered.  "What --"  He began, but a coughing fit interrupted him again. 

            Cassandra shifted and he felt her lift his shoulders to prop him up against her chest.  "Drink this," she said, tipping a red health potion to his lips.  He coughed and sputtered but managed to force it down.  She alternated the potion with another glass of water until she'd gotten both into him, the fog starting to clear, and at last he felt something akin to strength return to his body. 

            "Do you think you can stand?"  Cassandra asked, and he nodded. 

            "With help, I think, yes." 

            "Good, because this room reeks."  She looped his arm over her shoulders, tucking her arm around his waist, and together they got him to his feet.  With that lurching gait he was all too familiar with from working with the wounded after Adamant, they made their way onto the balcony. 

            "You need rest, but this will have to do," Cassandra said before he could ask anything, forcing a regeneration potion into his hands.  "You'll need to see a healer as soon as possible." 

            Cullen drank it slowly, feeling waves of energy rolling through his body and healing a hundred unseen injuries.  Poison, then.  It must have been poison to so damage his system.  "What happened?" 

            Cassandra glanced at him.  "I believe Florianne poisoned you," she said quietly, gesturing to the open wine bottle nearby on the railing.  "I found a half-drunk glass and a full one, along with Florianne's wedding dress.  Though you did quite the number on the dress." 

            Cullen's stomach rolled, and his discomfort must have shown on his face as he remembered what had happened.  The Winter Palace.  His arranged marriage.  And this room.    "We didn't--"  he began, and Cassandra waved a dismissive hand. 

            "You vomited on it," she said, and Cullen almost laughed.  A fitting end to the monstrosity of this marriage. 

            "Where is Florianne now?" 

            "No one knows.  The Grand Ball started less than an hour ago.  We hadn't seen you since the ceremony, so we assumed…"  She trailed off, and Cullen tried not to cringe.  They'd assumed he and his new wife were consummating their marriage, as the alliance required.  No one had thought that she would poison him and vanish. 

            "The Inquisitor was suspicious the entire time," the Seeker added. 

            The Inquisitor.  That's who he'd been trying to place in this room, that's who featured in the warm memories he had of this place.  The past days were rolling back through his mind now.  Had that really only been yesterday?  "And where is she?" 

            "She left for the Royal Quarters just after the Ball began." 

            "Has anyone reported the Grand Duchess missing? Leliana needs to know."  This was what they'd been waiting for: A clue to point them in the right direction.  Florianne had said the wine was a gift from her brother, but Cullen had no doubts that she was at the very least involved, if not solely responsible. 

            Cassandra gave him a predatory smile.  "That's our first stop," she said.   Then she paused, her dark gaze looking him over.  "Our second stop," she amended.  "You need to change." 

\---

            Cullen inspected himself in the mirror of his bedroom as though he'd never left to get married.  The sight that greeted him was still something of a mess.  He'd bathed quickly and changed back into the same red uniform he'd been wearing the past few nights, fidgeting with its too-tight waist once again.  Boots, sash, gloves: everything was in place except his mask, and that, he was pleased to say, would never be.  They'd abandoned it on the floor of the room where he'd been poisoned. 

            He ran his hands over his hair.  Its smooth styling looked like nothing had ever happened, but there was no mistaking the bruise around one eye.  He'd been sick, and without anything to cover it, the Orlesian court would have to accept it. 

            Not that he cared what the nobles thought anymore.  Not after today. 

            Cassandra was waiting for him in the hallway.  "You have a black eye," she observed, giving him a once-over.

            Cullen shrugged.  The capillaries there had broken with the force of the vomiting that had saved his life.  He didn't care if it left a mark.   "Have you spoken to Leliana?" 

            "Yes.  She is attempting to send the Inquisitor a message about what happened." 

            "Good.  She needs to be warned."  They headed for the Grand Ball, heads turning constantly in an effort to spot Florianne or any of her agents.  As yet, no one had reported seeing the Grand Duchess since her wedding that afternoon; equally ominous, no one seen Gaspard either.  She was toying with them, trying to throw them off her trail and incriminate her brother.  It was certainly possible that Gaspard was the mastermind behind it all, but frankly, Cullen doubted it. 

            The cold smile his wife had given him as she watched him fall said she was the assassin, and no one else. 

            Josephine met them in the vestibule of the Palace.  "Commander, are you all right?"  Cullen nodded, his eyes still moving over the crowd.  Without a message to her, Talia had no way of knowing that she was right in her suspicions, and that meant she was in more danger than she'd thought.  They needed to find Florianne, and fast. 

            In front of him, Josephine was babbling apologies about not listening, her voice low as she tried to avoid being overheard.  Cassandra was attempting to placate her but to no avail. 

            "Josephine, I am fine," Cullen snapped finally.  His eyes were fixed on the door to the ballroom as though he expected Florianne to step through at any moment.  And perhaps she would -- from the perspective of Orlais, this could be quite the tragic circumstances.  The Grand Duchess and her new husband, barely able to celebrate their union before he was struck down by an assassin in their midst.  Perhaps she planned on having his body discovered during the Ball, giving her the opportunity she needed to attack Celene.  She could easily frame Gaspard -- the Inquisition was the only agency that knew of the threat to the Empress, and with their Commander dead, they'd lose credibility in the investigation of her death.  Florianne could play the grieving widow even as she took her place on the throne. 

            Corypheus would have the chaos he wanted, and all of Thedas would follow. 

            "We have to find the Grand Duchess," Cassandra said, just as Cullen said, "We have to find the Inquisitor." 

            "Unfortunately, both have vanished," Leliana said as she stepped into view beside Josephine.  

            Cullen's head snapped toward the Spymaster.  "What?" 

            Leliana held up a hand.  "The Inquisitor is in the midst of searching the Royal Quarters.  My agents were unable to find her, but she should return within the hour." 

            "What about the Grand Duchess?"  Cassandra asked, her arms folded across her chest. 

            "She has not yet made an appearance," said Josephine.  She fidgeted with her uniform's sash, her eyes a little too wide to appear calm. 

            "And the peace talks?"  Cullen asked. 

            "Have begun on schedule," Leliana answered. 

            "Gaspard, Celene, and Briala are all in attendance," Josephine added, her eyes flicking back toward the ballroom.  "I must re-join them as soon as possible." 

            "Tell them nothing," Leliana said swiftly.  "This could undermine everything we've worked toward." 

            Cullen gave her a sharp look.  "Is that not the point?" 

            Leliana regarded him briskly.  "I am glad you survived, Commander, do not mistake that," she answered.  "But until the Inquisitor decides if we are to allow Celene to die, the Empress cannot suspect anything." 

            He'd nearly forgotten.  "What if Gaspard was behind Florianne's poisoning me?" 

            "Then we must save her.  We all know the Empire cannot fall.  In any case, we cannot do anything out of the ordinary until we have made contact with the Inquisitor." 

            “In the meantime, we need to prepare,” Josephine finished. 

            They worked and waited for nearly an hour.  Josephine re-joined the negotiations, though she had cautioned them that much of it wasn’t going well already.  Leliana set off to collect information – they needed to be sure about Gaspard before they could safely allow Celene to die, and she’d taken that upon herself in case the Inquisitor found little of use in the Royal Quarters.  With Cassandra hovering over him, Cullen made rounds through the palace to speak with his men.  They were in the standard Inquisition uniform tonight, a not-so-subtle show of power against a would-be assassin.  Judging from Florianne’s bold actions, she wouldn’t give them a second thought, but that didn’t matter.  They knew her now, and that meant they could stop her.

            If only they could find the Inquisitor.

            Cullen shifted his weight from foot to foot as he and Cassandra waited just inside the ballroom door.  They were behind some enormous statue that gave them a good angle of the room but just enough cover to hide them from immediate sight should the Duchess enter.  It wouldn’t do for Florianne to see that her attempt on his life had failed.  She needed to feel she had won, that she was safe, before she made a move against Celene.  Nevertheless, he couldn’t shake his anxiety the longer they waited without a glimpse of either the Grand Duchess or the Inquisitor. 

            “What if something happened?”  He muttered to Cassandra, who made what might have been meant to be a soothing noise. 

            “I have full faith in her abilities, Commander,” she replied, her arms folded.  “Do not fret.” 

            He gave her a dirty look.  “How can you be so calm?” 

            “It does not do to show a dragon you are afraid,” she said.  Cullen rolled his eyes. 

            “Dragon-hunter or not, you’re stuck with the Orlesian court now,” he grumbled. 

            Cassandra snorted.  “The principle is the same.” 

            They waited another few minutes, Cullen muttering to himself, until Cassandra glanced at him.  “How are you feeling?” 

            “I’m fine,” he groused, one hand wrapped around the pommel at his waist.  He wasn’t fine – the potions she’d given him had helped, but his vision was fuzzy on the edges and the muscles in his legs felt weak the longer they stood there.  He was holding himself together as he so often had: by sheer force of will, and he was willing to bet Cassandra knew it. 

            Thankfully, the Seeker said nothing. 

            The Inquisitor appeared in the ballroom doorway moments later, and only Cassandra’s hand on his arm stopped Cullen from running to her.  She was in her long rogue’s coat, her daggers sitting ominously on her back.   Her head twisted side to side as she looked for someone. 

            “She must have found something,” Cassandra muttered beside him.  “Otherwise she’d have changed.”  Cullen barely heard her.  He could see blood smeared on the Inquisitor’s face and what looked like demon goo spattered on her coat.  There’d been a fight, a big one. 

            The Inquisitor took a step into the room, eyes still moving, and Cullen’s heart fluttered in his chest when she saw him.  She held his gaze for a second, her lips twitching into a smile, before she looked away, still searching for something. A weight lifted off his chest; he hadn’t realized how worried he’d been about her. 

            Then she was beside him, Leliana with her.  “It’s Florianne,” she said without preamble. “And I can prove it this time.” 

            “We believe you,” Leliana said.  “She tried to kill the Commander.” 

            Her eyes went wide.  “What?” 

            “I’m fine,” he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck to avoid her eyes.

            “Maker, Cullen, are you sure?”  She reached out and touched his forearm as though reassuring herself that he was really there. 

            “Quite, Inquisitor,” he answered, willing his arm to stay steady.  She had enough to think about without worrying over him as well.  “What should we do about Celene?” 

            The corners of her mouth were tight, but she didn’t hesitate to answer.  “We let her die.” 

            Cassandra frowned.  “Are you sure, Inquisitor?” 

            The Inquisitor didn’t hesitate.  “We need peace, and the military might of Orlais to save Thedas.  That means Gaspard must rule.” 

            “We should be able to convince Briala to work with him based on the evidence you recovered as well,” Leliana added.  Talia nodded. 

            “It’s the best solution.”  She glanced around at the small group.  “Plus, Florianne told me her brother wasn’t involved when she tried to kill me, so we know he is innocent.” 

            “She tried to kill you?  Maker’s breath, what happened in the Quarters?”  They were pressed for time, yes, but surely they had a moment to understand what was going on. 

            Talia glanced at him. “She confronted me with a group of Venatori.  I managed to open a rift to distract them and escape.  It’s not important now, we have to stop her before –;” 

            Josephine pushed through their ranks, her eyes wide.  “The peace talks have crumbled.  Florianne and Gaspard just walked in, and Celene is about the address the court,” she announced.  “We have to act now.” 

            The Inquisitor glanced toward the Empress, standing at the railing on the far side of the room.  Gaspard and Florianne had appeared through the door nearest her.  “The Duchess will assassinate Celene personally, I’m sure of it.  Wait for her to strike, then grab her.”  She glanced at Cullen.  “Are you sure you’re all right, Commander?” 

            He squared his shoulders.  “My men are in place, Inquisitor.  We’re ready.” 

            “Good.”  She fumbled with her belt before handing him another health potion.  "Your hands are shaking.  And you have a black eye.  Drink."  He accepted and popped the cork as she turned to the others.  “Cassandra, Leliana, find Iron Bull and the rest and watch the doors.  We can’t make a mistake now.”  She drew a dagger, rolling it idly around her wrist as she studied Celene’s placid form across the ballroom.  “If anything happens to me… don’t let it be in vain,” she added.  Around the circle, everyone else nodded and headed to their posts, leaving Cullen and the Inquisitor behind. 

            “If anything happens…”  He repeated quietly, wishing the possibility weren’t so.  Her eyes met his, bright with adrenaline. 

            “It won’t.” 

            “I wish I had your confidence,” he answered as he studied her.  Every line of her body was tense under that coat.  This was why they were here.  This was what they’d been working toward, this opportunity to stabilize Orlais.  But he couldn’t stop thinking of yesterday morning as they’d walked through Halamshiral, hand in hand like they belonged together.  He didn’t want to lose that moment to an assassin’s blade. 

            “Be careful,” he whispered. 

            “Always,” she said automatically, though her expression lacked her characteristic smirk.  Instead her eyebrows were bunched, her forehead wrinkled as she stared at him. 

            “What?”  He asked, unable to stop himself. 

            “Nothing,” she said.  “It’s just…”  Quickly she leaned up, kissing him on the mouth.  Cullen kissed her back, more instinct than anything else, but she pulled away just as swiftly. “I love you.” 

            She was gone before he could be sure he’d heard it. 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for lots of violence and blood in this chapter. Nothing is too graphic, but just a heads up.

            Cullen traced the Inquisitor's progress through the crowd, watching as she slipped among nobles with her blade at the ready.  On the dais, Celene was still standing at the rail, waiting for some unknown signal to begin speaking.  She looked as calm and poised as ever, her hands folded demurely in front of her.  Cullen wondered if she had any idea what was about to happen. 

            Florianne waited in the wings.  She’d given no indication whatsoever of her intentions; rather, she stood just as calmly as her cousin, her mask in place and her expression impassive.  If she was nervous, Cullen couldn’t tell. 

            Then again, he remembered, she hadn’t seemed nervous in the slightest as she’d poisoned him either, so he didn’t know what he was expecting now. 

            He wound through the crowd, noting that Gaspard stood on the ballroom floor below the Empress, arms crossed.  Briala was nowhere in sight, though Solas nodded toward the guest wing as Cullen passed.  He must be keeping an eye on the elven ambassador then.  Cullen kept moving.  He wanted to be as close to the dais as possible when Florianne struck, opposite the Inquisitor if possible.  Her companions were scattered around the room; she needed his support, even if she hadn’t asked for it. 

            The nobles gossiped and tittered as the music died down, indicating the start of Celene’s speech.  The court herald announced her just as Cullen realized he was too close -- if Florianne glanced in his direction, she'd see him, and whatever slight advantage they had would be lost.  He ducked sideways into a crowd of nobles. 

            "My friends," came Celene's accented voice.  Cullen couldn't see her from his current position; advantage or not, he needed to be able to direct his men when the time came. 

            "Maker's breath," he grumbled to himself as he tried to maneuver through the crowd, and all the while Celene kept speaking, her speech flowery and nearly meaningless even if he hadn't known the talks had failed. 

            "The darkness has closed in around us, but even now there is light.  We must be that light!" Someone grabbed the back of Cullen's coat, and he nearly took a swing at them before he realized it was Dorian.   The mage tugged him after him, and within seconds they were both positioned near a roped-off door in the corner. 

            "Glad to see you again, Commander," the mage muttered, clapping his hands idly at Celene's demand that the nobles be the "guiding star" for the people of Orlais. 

            "You have no idea," Cullen muttered back, his eyes fixed on Florianne.  He couldn't determine yet where she was hiding a weapon in the enormous frilly costume that passed as a dress in this country.  But Celene turned to her, saying "the war dividing us must end," and Florianne stepped forward as smoothly as ever to add her own spin on the speech. 

            "My friends," she said, repeating Celene's greeting to her people.  "We are here to witness a historic moment."  Cullen tensed, and beside him, he felt Dorian pull on his magic.  "A great change is coming for all of us.  Isn't that right, Gaspard?" 

            Florianne hesitated for the briefest of moments as they watched, and across the room, Cullen saw movement as the Inquisitor attempted to push nobles out of her way.  Then Celene cried out as the tip of a dagger exited the front of her dress, and the room was alight with screams as blood poured over her abdomen. 

            Cullen had seen many people die in his tenure as a soldier.  It was never pleasant -- too many simply fell without words, their lives extinguished before their brains had a chance to understand what had happened.  An unlucky few were all too aware of their fate, screaming or begging the Maker for mercy, and some faced it in stoic silence. 

            Few were as horrific as seeing the Empress of Orlais clutch her stomach, spewing blood as she slumped to the floor with a choked gasp.  Florianne stood over her, blade in hand and the same cold regard she'd given Cullen on her face. 

            "Florianne!"  Gaspard was the first to recover.  "What have you done!"  His voice rose above the chaos of the nobles around him, and Cullen and Dorian ran for the Empress.  Opposite them, Talia was shoving through the crowd craning to see Celene's body. 

            "It went just as we planned.  I did this for you, brother," Florianne shouted at Gaspard, her voice pitched to carry.  Cullen's stomach twisted as he dodged around nobles.  She'd framed her brother, as he and Cassandra had thought she might, and that would give Corypheus exactly he wanted. 

            Below them, he heard Gaspard gasp at the revelation.  "Me? Have you gone mad?"  Cullen might have paused to answer, foolish as the question seemed, had the nobles closest to he and Dorian not morphed into Venatori agents in a puff of smoke. 

            "Look out!"  Dorian shouted just as Cullen drew his sword.  An arrow bounced off the barrier the mage had cast less than six inches from his face, and he lunged toward the archer, intending whatever harm he'd planned and tenfold. 

            He didn't have a chance.  The archer lurched suddenly and fell, one of the Inquisitor's daggers sprouting from his back. 

            Around him, the rest of the Venatori had attacked as well.  Too many of his men were fighting or already down, and a quick glance into the ballroom showed blood pooling on the marble.   Florianne looked sufficiently nonplussed, though her eyes widened just a bit at the sight of Cullen on his feet. 

            "No, not Gaspard," the Inquisitor snarled, advancing on the Grand Duchess, and she spun away from Cullen to face her.  "For Corypheus." 

            For a split second, Florianne considered her before heaving a long-suffering sigh.  "What a terrible guest you are," she said thoughtfully, as though it were any other conversation.  "First disrupting the negotiations and now interrupting your host.  I understand why Corypheus wants you dead."  She glanced at her agents throughout the ballroom, engaged in combat as they were, and snapped, "Kill them!"

            Florianne sprinted for the balcony just as an enormous smoke grenade erupted over the court, sending nobles running for cover.  She threw herself over the railing without hesitation, the Inquisitor close behind her.  Dorian had already followed, and he saw Iron Bull and Sera materialize from the crowd -- they too joined the Inquisitor over the balcony. 

            _It's not enough.  They need more men._

            The thought invaded as he caught several Venatori zealots and archers running after them, the sparkling magic of their mages easing the climb to the gardens below.  Around him, the sounds of steel against shield rang through the air, screams echoing over them as the Inquisition's soldiers fought what remained of Florianne's agents.  He was having trouble seeing with the smoke still hanging over the room, no way of changing tactics now, and he could do little but pray that they were winning.  Orlais could not have chaos, not after everything they'd sacrificed to save it. 

            Quickly he scooped up the Inquisitor's dagger from the corpse before him, tucking it into his sleeve just as Leliana appeared beside him.  "Our people can hold them off here, but they need help," she said, gesturing toward the balcony.  "Go." 

            "Be safe, Leliana," he said swiftly, pressing his hand over his heart in a salute. 

            He turned just as her blade went singing past his ear.  With a wet thud, a Venatori harlequin materialized from nothing behind him, hot blood spattering across his face as the man died.  "And you, Commander," she replied casually.  He nodded his thanks, wiping blood from his skin as he headed after the Inquisitor and her party.       

            The patter of their boots against the stone of the courtyard echoed back toward the palace.  They hadn't gotten far in what little time it had taken for him to gather his wits, and for that he was grateful.  He swung himself over the railing, grumbling as he tried to climb down an elaborate wrought-iron trellis without breaking his neck.  Seven or eight feet off the ground, he gave up and jumped, rolling to his feet with an ease he'd thought he left behind when he became the Commander. 

            Apparently not. 

            Outside the gates to the palace, a masked figure was aiming an enormous bow at the Inquisitor and her party.  Somehow she'd changed, but there was no mistaking the arrogant voice of the Grand Duchess as she snarled, "You didn't think I came this far without an escape planned?"  Her bow twanged, missing the Inquisitor by a hair's breadth.  Rage bubbled up, and Cullen ran toward them, drawing the dagger he'd tucked in his sleeve.  She would not die, not if he could prevent it. 

            Clouds of smoke rose around him, Venatori agents appearing from nowhere as Florianne herself vanished.  The gates started to close before Cullen, and he flung the dagger he'd been holding without thinking. 

            It clanged off the metal without doing any damage, but that didn't matter: The gate didn't click shut, and that was all he'd wanted to stop.  With a smirk, he jogged forward, picking up the knife as he gave chase to the party.  The next time Talia teased him about the mental anguish he inflicted on poor Jim every time he threw knives while the scout was on duty, he'd remind her of this moment. 

            His victorious feeling didn't last long. 

            "Your death will be the crowning jewel of my victory tonight," Florianne shouted at the Inquisitor.  She was perched atop the largest fountain in the gardens, her bow drawn once more.  "Ah, and my dear husband joins us," she cooed, spotting Cullen as he fell into place behind Sera and Dorian.  Her lips curled in a cold smile.  "I shall delight in killing you as well." 

            "You won't live to see it," Talia growled, rolling her daggers around her wrist. 

            "So protective of your lover, Inquisitor," she taunted with a laugh.  "Just think, the Inquisition and Orlais destroyed in a single blow.  The Empire will fall, and Thedas with it." 

            "I do believe I'm bored," Dorian announced as a thundercloud boiled overhead.  "Shall we end this?" 

            Florianne laughed.  "So good of you all to attend my soiree."  She vanished in yet another cloud of smoke, her shot missing Cullen by less than an inch. 

            "Fuckin' rogues," Iron Bull muttered.  "No offense, boss." 

            "None taken, Bull," the Inquisitor answered before she started spouting orders.  "Sera, top of that fountain.  Pick off anyone you can see.  Bull, Cullen, I need you to keep the Venatori off us.  Dorian, you're with me."  She flashed them all a feral smile, Bull unhooking his axe and Cullen drawing his sword.  Dorian's thunderclouds rumbled overhead.  Sera was already gone, climbing the fountain rather like a mountain goat.  "Let's do this." 

            She and Dorian spread out into the courtyard, scouting for any sign of Florianne.   Cullen quickly scanned the balconies and stairs surrounding them, trusting Bull to do the same.  There were fewer Venatori agents than he expected, given their leader's commitment to the destruction of Orlais, but perhaps his men had been successful in thinning their numbers. 

            And he couldn't discount the admittedly large number of them that Talia and her companions had already destroyed over the previous nights at the Palace. 

            A figure attacked from behind him, a shout Cullen's only warning as he spun and caught the zealot's blade on his grip.  He threw it off and with a cry lunged forward before the warrior could regain his balance.  They fought, blades clashing, and Cullen let instinct take over, the sense that had guided him through countless fights rising to the surface as the Venatori poured into the garden around them.

            He dodged as another soldier came toward him, spinning to slash his hamstring.  A swift thrust through his neck, and he was down, Cullen already moving toward the next enemy.  This man charged, his sword raised as he ran at the Commander, and Cullen dropped his shoulder into the man's chest, flipping him almost casually over his back.  Iron Bull spun and severed the man's arm without hesitation.  He screamed as he bled out, and Sera took pity on him, shooting him in the eye to end his suffering. 

            Cullen didn’t have time to appreciate the precision of the shot.  A harlequin bounced around him, taunting him as he tried to anticipate where it would re-appear each time his strikes missed. 

            "Bouncy bastards, aren't they," Iron Bull shouted happily as he whipped his weapon around his head in a torrent before it sliced into a mage overeager to attack.  They fell, nearly sliced in half, and his compatriot paused long enough for Cullen to fling a dagger through the eye slit in its mask, dropping him.  An arrow twanged by his ear, pinning a soldier to the hedge behind him, and Cullen shouted his thanks to Sera as he deftly cut the man's throat. 

            Two of the remaining zealots both lunged at him, one from either side, and Cullen dropped, his chest hitting the ground and nearly knocking the wind out of him.  Luckily they weren't particularly bright; they didn't lower their blades, effectively skewering the other.  Above him, Cullen heard Sera shout "Nice!" as he scrambled out from beneath their bodies.  Magic glowed around him suddenly, a mine powering up as he pushed himself to his feet, but Sera spotted the mage and neatly shot her before she could do any true damage.  Thank the Maker for her overhead support, or they'd be explaining to Talia how he fell when this was over. 

            Adrenaline, however, could only carry Cullen for so long.  His stance was weakening, his blocks slower as the residual effects of the poison wore him down.  With Sera’s perfect shots, often lined up to deliver the killing blow to Cullen’s strikes, he was managing, but it wouldn’t last long now.  His legs shook with effort, the muscles burning.  Not far away, Bull shouted taunts and insults at the Venatori soldiers, thankfully attracting far more of them than were getting to Cullen. 

            The Venatori numbers were thinning slowly, and from the corner of his eye, Cullen could see puffs of smoke as Florianne flipped and twisted out of the Inquisitor’s grasp.  He kept right on fighting, trying his best to ignore how fear crept into his gut.  He didn’t have time to be afraid. 

            A harlequin appeared from nowhere, its masked and grinning face more disorienting than Cullen wanted to admit.  And _Maker’s breath_ , it was fast, lunging in to slice his forearm before bouncing away with a cackle, and the strike he aimed cut harmlessly through the smoke around them.  He spun and slashed, managing to block enough of its strikes to stay alive by luck alone.  Exhaustion was making his moves sloppy. 

            “Sera, help!” He shouted when he couldn’t see the harlequin at all anymore.  He’d always had trouble spotting rogues in stealth, a flaw that had been almost funny when Talia used it to play pranks.   It lost some of its humor when his life was on the line. 

            “Gotcha, Cully-wully!”  An arrow slammed into what Cullen had thought was empty space, and the harlequin screamed as it materialized with the quivering shaft emerging from its gut.  It clutched at it, trying to pull it free, and Cullen cut the man down without hesitation. 

            Across the garden, Talia shouted something unintelligible before a line of trees burst into flames – one of Dorian’s lightning strikes had struck the topiary instead of Florianne.  Cullen heard the mage curse even from his position across the gardens as the singe of ozone rolled over the landscape. 

            A wave of cool magic flowed over him.  For a moment, he wondered if Dorian had stopped to put the fire out – a foolish move, given the circumstances – before he realized he suddenly felt stronger, more capable than just a moment before.  A pulsing green circle lit up the ground around him. 

            “What the …” He began, before Bull’s big hand dropped on his shoulder. 

            “Re-gen potion, Commander,” he rumbled with a wink. 

            Cullen nodded, taking advantage of the brief break in fighting to wipe sweat from his brow.  “Apparently I’ve missed some things while riding a desk,” he muttered.  Bull laughed as he hefted his great axe again. 

            What he hoped were the last of the Venatori poured over them, but they were ready now.  Days of sparring had gifted he and Bull with preternatural awareness of the other’s attacks, and they moved with coordination Cullen couldn’t have planned better if he’d had a month to prepare.  They slashed, parried, spun, knocking injured opponents to each other to finish off or pulling feigns that put those Maker-forsaken harlequins directly in the other’s path.  Between their work and Sera’s deadly accuracy, the Venatori didn’t last long. 

            Across the gardens, he heard the Inquisitor scream, “Dorian, look out!” before the unmistakable chill of ice magic swept across the gardens.  He flew through the last of their opponents to locate them as they chased the Duchess, Bull’s quiet whistle of appreciation behind him conveying everything he felt but could not say. 

            He’d purposefully avoided the battle between the Inquisitor and the Duchess, knowing his own anxiety about Talia’s safety would only overload his ability to keep himself functional in the wake of being poisoned.  But now he followed her movements like a man possessed.  It was a rare and beautiful thing, watching the Inquisitor in battle – he’d never been in the field with her other than at Adamant, and there he’d had only glimpses of her ranging party moving as he stayed on the front lines to direct his troops.

            Watching her now, he half-wished he could always travel with her.  Her movements were as carefully calculated as the Duchess’s were sloppy, no wasted energy as she spun or dodged.  That long coat fluttered around her as she flung herself over a hedge to dodge an arrow, her movement effortless as she rolled to her feet and threw what looked like a jar of bees to distract Florianne.  On the Duchess’s opposite side, Dorian was stirring up a blizzard, effectively cornering her for the Inquisitor’s blades. 

            But seeing how deftly Florianne strung her bow, how easily and accurately she nocked arrows and let them fly, Cullen also wanted to never let Talia leave Skyhold again.  It was the same protective desire he’d felt the entirety of their tenure at the Winter Palace – the urge to keep her safe, of course, but also the selfish desire that _he_ be the one to do it, that he alone could protect her when he knew in his heart that she was perfectly capable of doing it herself. 

            He turned away when Sera shouted, “More venti-assholes incoming!” knowing he had to do what he could to keep her safe.  She needed his sword now more than his worry. 

            They’d taken down no more than a few soldiers before a blood-curdling scream echoed over the gardens.  Cullen spun, leaving Sera and Bull to fight off the last of the Venatori who were still foolish enough to attack them.

            It took a moment to find them – they had cornered Florianne against the back wall of the gardens, his only clues the echoing shouts of “For the Inquisition, bitch!” coming from the Inquisitor.  When he turned the corner, he found Talia straddling Florianne’s chest, screaming insults as she punched her over and over.  Her daggers lay abandoned, inches from the blood pooling underneath the Duchess’s prone form. 

            “Talia, stop! Kaffas, just kill her!”  Dorian shouted at Talia’s back, but the Inquisitor gave no indication she’d heard him.  Her gloves were bloody as she reared back and punched Florianne again.  Underneath her, the Duchess groaned. 

            “Cullen, stop her, please,” Dorian pleaded as he froze beside them.  Certainly he understood Talia’s actions – this woman before them was responsible for so much hurt and anguish, both personally and for Orlais, and there was a part of him that wouldn’t have minded getting in a punch or three before it was over.

            Sera and Bull arrived while he hesitated in limbo, a quiet “fuck me,” sliding from Bull’s mouth as he took in the blood spattered across the stones around them, the bruises on Florianne’s face.  If even the mercenary thought it was bad…

            Talia leaned back to catch her breath, her shoulders and chest heaving with effort, and beneath her the Duchess coughed.  She tried to speak, her words almost unintelligible, but Cullen thought she might have asked for mercy. 

            “No fucking way,” Talia growled, her arm pulled back for another strike, and Cullen leapt forward.  He grabbed her, wrapping his arms around her waist and hauling her bodily off the woman on the ground.  “No, stop!”  The Inquisitor screamed. “Let me go!”  She twisted and fought, trying to get free, but the parts of him that had grown since he left the Order couldn’t sit back and watch her beat someone to death. 

            “She’s not worth it, Talia,” he managed, strength fading against the fury in his arms. 

            “Get off!”  She shouted, still fighting him, but before she could break free, the Duchess lunged, a blade they hadn’t noticed appearing in her hand.  She lacked the grace she’d had before, blood streaming down one arm, but she was up, still lethal if she so desired.  Without hesitation, Bull swept her feet out from under her, and she dropped again, body thudding against the ground.  He swung his axe, steel twanging off stone as it impacted, and Florianne lay dead.

            Talia sagged in his arms as the head rolled away.  She was shaking, still hurling insults at the Duchess’s body as her voice broke and her strength waned.  Cullen couldn’t do anything except hold her and let her shout, wishing he could take her pain and make it his, protect her, anything to give her some relief.  But he couldn’t.  He couldn’t protect her from the recourse of this night, from the nightmares he was sure would come from watching Celene die without intervention, from the taunts of the Duchess ringing in her ears as they rang in his. 

            Dorian looked at him as he stepped cautiously closer, a question on his face, and Cullen nodded.  If anyone could help, it would be the mage.  He took Talia’s forearms in his hands, pulling her toward him, and she collapsed, her shouts finally slowing as she sobbed in his arms.  Sera came over too, brushing Talia’s hair back from her face as she whispered in her ear, and gradually, so gradually, the Inquisitor came back to them. 

            Cullen could only stand by and wait. 

            Exhaustion hit him like a shield bash as he watched her collect herself in someone else’s arms.  He couldn’t help her.  Maker, she hadn’t even recognized it was him holding her, so blinded by rage that finally had an outlet, and he stepped back, away, to give her space to recover with her companions.

            Bull was pilfering bodies for weapons and armor, stacking everything in a pile near the fountain for Leliana’s scouts to grab later.   The big qunari sent him apologetic glances as he worked, but he didn’t ask for help, and Cullen didn’t volunteer it.  Instead he walked to Florianne’s body. 

            It was a mess of blood and battle, her frivolous black costume sliced in a dozen places to reveal pale skin and smeared flesh.  A dark pool of blood had finally stopped spreading under one arm; the Inquisitor must have cut her brachial artery before she fell.  Cullen nudged her leg with his toe.  She looked small, harmless even as she lay there, the cause of so much destruction and death. 

            He stared down at her for a long time. 

            When he could, Cullen stepped around her to inspect her head where it had rolled a few inches away.  He didn’t know what he expected to find; he’d seen far too many bodies before, and far too many beheadings, but somehow he had to see this one too to know it was real.  He stared down at it, staunchly avoiding the stump of her severed neck, and something clicked.

Her mask was gone. 

For the first time, he was looking at the face of his wife. 

His dead wife. 

His marriage was over. 

            With a painful clench of his heart, he realized he was free, and he almost laughed.  Less than 12 hours – that had to be the shortest marriage in the history of Thedas. 

            His thoughts leapt to Talia in the space of a heartbeat, and he spun, heart leaping with hope. 

            She was standing on her own now, chuckling at something Sera was saying as she wiped her face.  As he watched, Dorian fished a handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to her.  She accepted with a shaky smile.  He said something about her coat as she wiped ineffectually at it, the blood already dried in the aftermath of the fight.  The mage’s fingers glowed as he swiped them over the cuts on her hands and she thanked him, inspecting the skin as she brushed her hair from her eyes. 

            Then she glanced up and saw him, and for a second, everything went still.

            They stared at each other, neither flinching.  Her hand paused on her forehead, the hanky still in her grip, and his stopped its worrying at the back of his neck.  Slowly she nodded, and he nodded back, a silent acknowledgment that they’d won.  They were both okay, safe if not free, and before either could move or speak, shouts and cheers rose up from the balcony of the Winter Palace.  Josephine, Gaspard, and a host of nobles stared down at them, some shouting and others silent, some even applauding, but all relieved to finally have done with the excitement of the evening.

            The Inquisitor turned to them, the mask falling back over her face as she confronted her victory at last.  Josephine and Leliana were trotting down the stairs toward her, Josephine's quill and writing board already in hand to make notes over what had happened.  They descended on her, grabbing her by each arm to guide her back into the palace, Sera and Dorian in tow.  Bull followed, pausing only to pick up the Duchess’s head by her hair as a gruesome trophy.

            She glanced behind her once, catching Cullen's eye and mouthing what looked like "I'm sorry" as they pulled her away.  He gave her a small smile he wasn't sure she saw as he watched her go. 

            It was over.  He could finally breathe, safe in the knowledge that he would never have to live in this Void of a country, never have to guard what he had to say for fear of accidentally insulting someone or wonder who was watching him under all those masks.  But his legs were shaking, adrenaline and exhaustion and the never-ending anxiety of the Inquisition hanging over him. 

            None of it felt like a victory when he didn't know what would happen next. 

            He fell into step far behind the others.  A dozen small cuts and injuries were burning their way into his consciousness, the throbbing of his forearm enough to tell him at least one wound needed tending.  He'd have to deal with that, and a plethora of other responsibilities as soon as he went inside, but he foresaw no opportunity for the one conversation he really wanted to have.  The Inquisitor would be occupied for the rest of the night, likely the rest of their visit.  He hadn't planned his exit given his arrangements, but likely he would start the long ride back to Skyhold tomorrow with his soldiers.  There was more work to do than ever now that Gaspard was the Emperor and thus their ally. 

            His boots crunched on something as he walked, and Cullen glanced down to find a small object winking up at him from the path.  He bent to pick it up, holding it in his palm for a long moment.   

            It was his coin.  Its chain was broken, and its face smeared with blood and sweat, but there was no mistaking its worn face as he stared down at it.  His jaw clenched.  Had she even noticed it was gone? 

            And worse -- Maker, what if she didn't care? 

            That small ember of hope still burning in his chest insisted that she did.  Her words, that swift kiss just before she ran off to save an Empire -- those were not the actions of someone who did not care.  

            But she'd been ushered inside before he could even speak to her, and now there seemed little chance of saying what he wanted to say, asking what he truly wanted to ask.  _And Starkhaven still stands between you_ , his mind whispered, and his heart sank. 

            Still hope, that fragile thing, hovered in his chest, making his heart flutter as he wondered if there were any peace to be had between them.  There was a chance now, a crack in the door not yet closed, and Maker's breath but he wouldn't let that stop him. 

            Not after everything else. 

            He slipped the coin into his pocket before continuing inside, his jaw set and eyes dry.  Later tonight, he told himself.  He'd find her later tonight, and ask her for what he wanted most in the world, and only then would he let her go. 

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for stitches and blood. Nothing graphic, I promise

            The organizational might of the Inquisition was a powerful machine, and with its attention turned to righting an Empire, there was no stopping it.  Around the ballroom, Inquisition scouts and runners took reports and issued words of comfort like they'd been born to it.  Leliana bustled among the servants and scouts to collect eyewitness accounts and information, carefully creating a full picture of what had happened and who had been involved.  Florianne might be dead, but they could not simply hand the throne to Gaspard without evidence to support his innocence.  There was too much hanging in the balance to make that mistake. 

            The Inquisitor herself was out on the balcony where Cullen had spoken to her only the night before, arguing with Gaspard and Briala over how best to rule the Empire.   Josephine was hovering near the doorway, passing relevant information on as fast as she could read through and synthesize the most reliable of the reports Leliana collected.  A separate pile of accounts, those the Spymaster said were from less trustworthy sources, waited nearby.  They were less essential for the Ambassador to read, especially after someone realized one of them said they would swear they saw Andraste herself reach down and behead Florianne for her blasphemous behavior against her sovereign.  Nonetheless, someone had to read them in case something relevant popped up in an unexpected place, and Dorian and Iron Bull had been drafted to the cause. 

            Cullen worked his way through the hall tending to his soldiers.  While some stood guard, many were wounded, and a make-shift hospital had been organized in the Grand Library of the Winter Palace.  Solas was directing healing efforts there, making sure the able-bodied had the necessary supplies to care for lesser injuries while he directly worked with those more grievously wounded.  Back in the ballroom, still more soldiers carried their fallen comrades to the unofficial morgue that had been set up in Gaspard's estate hall.  The Commander directed each to the appropriate destination, collecting names and casualty information for the Inquisition's records.  He could work on the letters to the fallen's families from the road. 

            Exhaustion still threatened to overtake him, but Cullen couldn't allow it to get in his way, not now.  He'd forgone all healing potions, instead directing those offered to his soldiers.  They needed them far more than he, even if pain still flared up his arm as he tried to write legibly. 

            By the time he broke a second quill from an overcompensating grip, however, he was ready to give up. 

            Leliana sent Dorian to take over, and the mage took one look at him before sending him to Cassandra, who gave a disinterested grunt and vanished into what had become their hospital wing.  Cullen stood awkwardly outside, making inquiries to the soldiers who passed as to their injuries and offering whatever small comforts he could.  His legs trembled as he waited. 

            Cassandra emerged carrying a small pouch of supplies, her expression dark.  Cullen followed her dutifully, ignoring how his heartbeat sent throbbing pain up his arm with each step. 

            "In," the Seeker snapped, gesturing toward the trophy room of the palace.  He thought to hesitate before she growled, "Now," and he went without argument. 

            She pointed to a bench on the far side of the room.  "Sit.  Jacket off." 

            Cullen hesitated again.  "Cassandra, what are you doing?" 

            She did not look up from the supplies she was now laying out on a small towel.  "You have a fairly serious injury, Commander, and you've chosen to ignore it." 

            "I have no such thing," he replied, moving to cross his arms.  When he couldn't without a hiss of pain, Cassandra looked up. 

            "It is irresponsible not to tend to it," she informed him.  "Especially after you were nearly killed earlier this evening.  Now. Jacket. Off." 

            Cullen closed his mouth.  He'd forgotten about Florianne's attempt on his life in light of everything else.  Slowly he unbuttoned his coat and eased it off, wincing when the sleeve came away stiff with dried blood.  Underneath, his tunic sleeve was soaked and matted to his skin, the long, wide slash along his forearm still bleeding despite the passage of time.

            He studied it as though he'd never seen a wound before. 

            Without warning, Cassandra turned a small bottle of disinfectant over it, and he drew in a breath through clenched teeth as the wound sang with pain.  "None of the healers have the mana to spare on anything less than life-threatening, Commander," she informed him casually.  "You'll have to make do with me." 

            He gave her a dirty look, his other hand locked around his forearm to support it.  "Your bedside manner needs work." 

            She ignored him, instead digging into the muscle of his arm as she cleaned the wound out.  When Cullen grunted, she flashed him a glare that silenced him before he could complain.  Finally assured that it was clean, she washed it quickly with cool water and produced a needle. 

            Cullen reached for it the second she had trouble threading it.  "I can sew myself up, I've done it before," he told her, and she grunted. 

            "Spare me."  Despite her trouble getting started, the Seeker's stitching was surprisingly careful as she pulled his flesh back together.  Cullen tried not to grimace. 

            "You should drink a potion," she told him as she worked, not looking up.  "We will need you a while longer, and it is obvious that you are in pain." 

            "I'm fine, Cassandra," he replied, but his hands were shaking, and not just because of the needle sewing up his arm. 

            As usual, she ignored him.  "The Inquisitor will be speaking to the court to install Gaspard before long.   You should go talk to her."  Cullen sighed, his free hand coming up to rub the back of his neck and jarring his injured side in the process.  "Void take it, stay still," the Seeker growled.

            He let her regain her concentration before he answered.  "I… would like to, but she may be too busy." 

            For the first time, Cassandra looked up, that line between her eyes deep.  "I believe she would want you to, Cullen," she said finally.  "It has been a trying day for her." 

            "Why should that mean she wants my comfort?"  The question was out before he could stop it.  Maybe he did need to drink a potion, or perhaps just sleep for a week. 

            Cassandra rolled her eyes and went back to her task.  She was nearly done now.  "Don't be foolish, Cullen." 

            "I was asking a serious - ow! - question.  Maker's breath, what are you doing?" 

            She snipped the thread and set the bloody needle aside.  "I'm finished.  Let me clean you up before I bandage it."  A fresh cloth still came away pink with blood, but the wound was closed and her stitches were small and neat.  It would definitely scar, but it would heal well.  A few wraps of a bandage, and he was done. 

            "I mean it, Cullen," she said as she swept the supplies back into the healer's pouch.  "Talk to Talia, tonight."  She thrust a potion into his hands, its top already uncorked.

            He studied her for a moment before answering.  "I'll try."  To himself, he wondered why he was so hesitant.  He wanted nothing more than to talk to Talia, to ask her to reconsider the alliance and the Inquisition and anything else that stood between them. 

            He wanted to ask her if she still wanted to be with him, but he knew why he hesitated:  He didn't think he was strong enough to deal with it if she said no. 

            "Don't try.  Just do it," the Seeker said, giving him a look as she headed back to the ballroom.  "And drink that potion." 

            Cullen tipped it back before he could talk himself out of it.

            He attempted to re-dress himself, knowing how unofficial it would look should he emerge from the hall in his dress pants and an undershirt.  Nothing mattered to him less just then, but Orlais was still watching.  He refused to play the grieving widower or whatever nonsense they would no doubt cook up for him, but this one small concession he could make. 

            Once settled, Cullen headed for the balcony where he'd last seen the Inquisitor.  Just inside its doors, Josephine was speaking to Gaspard and Briala together, but she waved him on and he didn't hesitate to avoid whatever conversation they were having.  He didn't care.  And if he didn't talk to Talia now, he might never have the courage. 

            She was leaning against the railing, her head in her hands. 

            "Inquisitor," he said softly as he approached and leaned on the rail alongside her. 

            She didn't move.  "Commander," she replied, her voice muffled before she heaved a sigh.  "How are things going inside?" 

            "They've quieted for now.  Are you all right?"  Everything he wanted could wait if she needed something more. 

            She lifted her head.  Her make-up left dark shadows under her eyes where she'd been crying, but she was calm now as she studied the gardens below.  "I'm fine," she said.  "I let an innocent woman die, lost who knows how many soldiers because of it, nearly beat someone to death, and tried to fight you off when you tried to help.  So yeah, I'm fine." 

            "You are… and the Empire…"  He sighed when he couldn’t find words to comfort her and instead laid a cautious hand on her shoulder, grateful for once that he wasn't wearing gloves.  "I'm just glad you're safe," he admitted.  "I was worried for you."  

            She touched his hand.  "Thank you for that."   They stood in silence for a while before she pulled her hand away.  "I lost your coin," she said abruptly, her cheeks going pink.  "I don't know how it happened, but when I looked for it after the fight, it was gone."  She glanced at him, eyebrows knit in anticipation of his reaction, but Cullen couldn't help his smile. 

            She did care. 

            "I believe I can help once again, Inquisitor," he told her, enjoying how surprisingly endearing it was to see her look confused.  He slid his hand into his pocket, grimacing when the edge of his coat scratched the bandage on his arm.  It took a moment, but he managed to produce the coin and chain without incident.  He held it out to her, a smile still curling his lips. 

            "You found it?"  She accepted it with gentle fingers, wiping the blood and dust off it with her thumb before she smiled up at him.  "It really is lucky." 

            "The chain's broken, but I can ask Dorian to fix it later," he said, watching how carefully she turned it over to make sure it was okay.  Hope burned brighter in his chest with each passing moment. 

            She nodded, tucking it away in her shirt for safe-keeping.  "I -- Thank you, Cullen," she said, stepping closer.  Her hand drifted over his forearm as she moved, and he winced. Her eyes widened.  "Are you okay?" 

            "I'm fine," he said quickly, but he pulled his arm away.  "It's nothing."  She stared at him, her eyebrow lifted in question, and he rambled on.  "One of the Venatori cut me, but Cassandra already stitched me up and made me drink a potion.  I promise, I'm all right." 

            Her head tilted as she remembered something.  "Didn't Florianne try to poison you earlier too?" 

            "Um. Yes."  This was not where he wanted this conversation to go, to his physical flaws and ailments and far, far from the singular romantic opportunity it could be. 

            "I… shouldn't keep you, then," the Inquisitor said, but Cullen reached for her hand and stopped her before she could move away. 

            "Please don't go." 

            She surveyed him.  "You need rest, Cullen." 

            "I'm fine," he said, brushing off her suggestion.  "Please."  Her eyes searched his face before she nodded. 

            "All right."  Silence hung between them for a moment before Cullen edged closer to her, keeping her hand in his. 

            "I had wondered if we might… try this again, so to speak," he said softly, willing his voice not to shake. 

            Talia barked out a laugh.  "If you mean the Winter Palace, I am definitely out." 

            "No, Maker, of course not!"  His face was warm, the back of his neck itchy, but he pushed on.  "I meant… this.  Us."  He lifted their joined hands, bending to kiss her knuckles as she studied him.  "Yesterday there was no hope for us, but today…" 

            A soft smile curled over her lips as understanding dawned, and she stepped closer.  They were nearly chest to chest, their hands locked between them, and if he leaned in just a little…

            "I meant what I said, before," she told him quietly. 

            Joy surged through his chest.  "Tell me again?"  He needed to hear it, had to watch her lips form the words and know with all his soul that she meant them. 

            Talia dipped her head to kiss his hand before she looked up at him through her lashes.  "I love you, Cullen." 

            "Maker, I…"  His heartbeat was roaring in his ears, his cheeks stretched with his smile, and he bent his forehead to rest against hers, his eyes open and trained on hers.  "I was so scared to ask," he admitted, a nervous laugh bubbling out of him.  "I didn't know what you wanted or what we could be, and I… I…" 

            Her smile mirrored his, her eyes bright.  "I want you," she said softly.  "Only you, forever." 

            "Maker's breath, but I love you," he said around the lump in his throat, and with a deep breath, he bent to kiss her, to seal this moment with everything he was. 

            And Void take her, the Ambassador chose that instant to clear her throat, and they leapt apart before they could ever touch. 

            "I'm sorry to interrupt," she said, twisting her quill in her hands.  "But they are ready for Gaspard to speak, Inquisitor."     

            Talia's expression would have stopped Corypheus in his tracks.  "So?" 

            The Ambassador swallowed hard, her expression sheepish.  "He asked that you face the court with him, as I'm told you promised." 

            Her fearsome expression crumbled.  "Oh, um. Yes, right, I'm on my way."  Josephine nodded, looking between them like she wasn't sure she trusted them alone.  Only when Talia finally dropped Cullen's hand did she turn back to the ballroom. 

            Talia, however, quickly leaned up and kissed his cheek, her touch warm and lingering.  "Promise me we'll continue this later?"

            "Of course," he replied, but his heart was sinking in his chest.  Maker alone knew when later would be, and he so desperately wanted to know how truly she meant forever.  He watched her walk away, straightening his jacket for his own return to the ballroom.  All eyes wouldn't be on him, but no doubt some of them would.  As Cassandra had said, the Inquisition needed him. 

            He ducked through the door behind the Inquisitor and Gaspard, who were discussing the alliance between the Inquisition and Orlais.  Apparently Gaspard intended to honor it from his new position as Emperor, for which Cullen was most grateful.  Something beneficial had come from this mess. 

            Though they likely could have used his input, Cullen avoided his fellow advisors and instead tried to move through the crowd as inconspicuously as possible.  He had no desire to discuss Florianne's death, and even less to have his bottom pinched by admirers who now believed him to be available.  Thankfully he spotted Dorian standing near the back of the dance floor.  The mage waved him over, and he maneuvered through nobles as chatter rose around him.  From the dais where Celene had stood only hours before, Gaspard now gestured for silence, the Inquisitor at his side. 

            Dorian gave him a nod as Gaspard began speaking.  His words were terse and measured, the exact opposite of his predecessor, and Cullen took comfort as he listened to the man discuss viewing Orlais's changed situation as a soldier facing an enemy.  The Inquisition had always known Gaspard despised the Game, and this was the ally they'd needed. 

            His mind wandered inevitably back to Talia as she stood silently by, thoughts spinning without reaching anything like a conclusion.  He didn't get the chance to touch her, kiss her, but his chest still burned with her words, and he wished he'd been brave enough to ignore Josephine, and Gaspard, and everyone else to hold her in his arms just a little longer. 

            As he listened to her speak, her words the firm conviction that the Inquisition, coupled with Orlais, would save Thedas, he could not stop the profound pride that consumed him.  They'd won, despite all the obstacles in their path, and as always, they had the Inquisitor to thank for it. 

            She blushed as the crowd cheered for her, brushing her hair from her eyes as Gaspard resumed his speech.  Cullen watched her, mesmerized by the poise she still maintained despite how exhausted she must be, and he thought of how badly he wanted all of her -- not just his best friend, or the woman he'd made love to, or the Inquisitor, but her, Talia.  He wanted everything about her to be his, for all time. 

            Forever.

            To his surprise, Gaspard released the court back to the ball they'd been having before the assassination of the Empress, and to his further surprise, the nobles around him cheered as the music started up for the first time in hours.  Maker, what was wrong with this country? 

            "You have a visitor, Commander," Dorian said, tapping Cullen's shoulder and directing his attention across the room.  The Inquisition was making her way toward him, weaving through nobles and ignoring all attempts to get her attention as she walked.  She picked up speed as she got closer, the smile on her face threatening to split her cheeks, and Cullen caught her as she leapt into his arms, her arms wrapped around his neck and her face turned into his. 

            "It's over," she sighed, her breath warm.  "We won."  He couldn't help it -- he spun her around, so thankful for her weight in his arms and her skin against his.  And the words slipped out of him before he could stop to think. 

            "Marry me." 

            "What?"  She laughed; she hadn't heard him, clutched to his chest as she was, and he put her down, his arms still wrapped around her waist to assure him she was real. 

            "Marry me," he repeated, leaning down to press his forehead to hers.  He saw the moment it dawned over her face, and to his surprise, she looked almost amused. 

            "You can't be serious." 

            "I am," he said.  He'd never been more serious about anything in his life.  

            "But… what about Starkhaven?" 

            He hadn't thought of it, hadn't considered anything like alliances or what the Inquisition needed, or Maker forbid, what his sister might say.  All he'd thought of was that word "forever" as it rolled off her tongue as they made love the day before, as they'd stood together just moments ago after everything they'd sacrificed had finally set them free. 

            "Forget the alliance," he said with a shake of his head.  "And forget everything else.  I cannot breathe another minute without knowing you are mine.  Marry me." 

            Talia stared up at him for a moment before that smile he so loved broke over her face.  "Yes.  Maker, yes."  She surged up to catch his lips, his hand tangling in her hair as he kissed her.  Then she was laughing, pressing kisses to his lips and nose and cheeks as she repeated her answer over and over, each kiss a confirmation of her love. 

            Cullen picked her up again, needing to feel her pressed against the length of him. "I love you," he said as she stared into his eyes, her hands risen to frame his face.  "I have nothing outside the Inquisition to offer, and Maker, I don't even have a ring, but Andraste preserve me, I will always love you." 

            "I have never needed anything but you," she said, punctuating her reply with a deep kiss.  "I love you, Cullen."   

            His arms were growing tired, the rush of happiness flagged a little by exhaustion and blood loss and poison, and he let her slide to the ground without breaking their kiss.  He had no plans to let her go, no intentions of letting anything interrupt this moment. 

            Until someone cleared their throat behind them, and they both turned to look, something like embarrassment coloring their cheeks. 

            "Um," Cullen said articulately. 

            "Hello, everyone," Talia continued for him, her voice small.  "Can we help you?" 

            Dorian stood before them, his arms crossed.  Behind him waited Sera, Iron Bull, Cassandra, Leliana, Josephine, and even Solas. 

            Cullen's hand shifted from Talia's waist to rub the back of his neck.  "Maker's breath, how long have you all been standing there?"  he managed, and Iron Bull's deep frown finally broke. 

            "Long enough to congratulate the happy couple!" Sera squealed, and suddenly they were surrounded by friends and laughter, champagne flutes pressed into their hands and the celebration of Orlais co-opted into something far more intimate and sweet. 

            Between teasing and congratulations, Talia's hand never left his, and at long last, with her by his side, he felt strong enough to save the world. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> Also: There is a super-fluffy sequel in the works that will probably debut in April. I'll post a teaser and link here when it's ready, so if you're interested, please subscribe so you can find it later! 
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> Thank you so much for reading!!!


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